


Up In Flames: Into the Wild

by RevampWriting



Series: Up In Flames [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Rusty goes to WindClan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevampWriting/pseuds/RevampWriting
Summary: When Rusty is chased out of the forest by a ThunderClan patrol, he stumbles onto the moors and is taken in by WindClan instead. But while he embraces life on the moors and strives to learn all he can about his new home, enemies lurk in the shadows, and he finds he must defeat them without his Clan - or risk losing them forever...





	1. Allegiances

**Author's Note:**

> Yo everyone! So this is basically just me cross-posting my story from my FFN account, and I'll spare you all the long-winded explanation upfront. The core of what you gotta know for this series is in the tags and the summary, so enjoy as you will!
> 
> I'm pretty much gonna be mass-posting all of what I've got of the story so far, so don't expect updates to be quite so frequent in the future XD

**_WindClan_**

****  
  
  


  


** Leader:** Tallstar – black-and-white tom with a very long tail  
 ****  
  
Deputy:  
Deadfoot – black tom with a twisted paw  
 ****  
  
Medicine Cat:  
Barkface – short-tailed brown tom

 **Warriors:**  
Doespring – light brown she-cat (Apprentice: _Firepaw_ )  
Ryestalk – gray tabby she-cat  
Pigeonwing – dark gray tom with white patches  
Sorrelfeather – gray-and-brown she-cat  
Wrenflight – brown she-cat  
Rabbitleap – pale brown she-cat with yellow eyes  
Bristlepelt – black tom  
Flyfall – white tom  
Mudclaw – mottled dark brown tabby tom (Apprentice: _Webpaw_ )  
Tornear – gray tabby tom (Apprentice: _Runningpaw_ )  
Onewhisker – young brown tabby tom (Apprentice: _Whitepaw_ )

**Apprentices:**  
Webpaw – dark gray tabby tom  
Runningpaw – light gray tabby she-cat  
Whitepaw – small white she-cat  
Firepaw – fiery ginger tom with green eyes

**Queens:**  
Morningflower – tortoiseshell queen  
Ashfoot – gray queen (mother of _Eaglekit_ ; a gray tom, and _Tawnykit_ ; a golden-brown she-kit)

**Elders:**  
Meadowslip – elderly gray she-cat  
Crowfur – dark gray tom

** _ThunderClan_ **

****  
  
Leader:  
Bluestar – blue-gray she-cat with blue eyes  
 ****  
  
Deputy:  
Redtail – small tortoiseshell tom with a distinctive ginger tail (Apprentice: _Dustpaw_ )  
 ****  
  
Medicine Cat:  
Spottedleaf – beautiful dappled dark tortoiseshell she-cat

 **Warriors:**  
Lionheart – magnificent golden tabby tom with thick fur like a lion’s mane (Apprentice: _Graypaw_ )  
Whitestorm – big white tom (Apprentice: _Sandpaw_ )  
Tigerclaw – big dark brown tabby tom with unusually long front claws (Apprentice: _Ravenpaw_ )  
Darkstripe – black-and-gray tabby tom  
Willowpelt – slender pale silver-gray she-cat  
Longtail – pale tabby tom with dark black stripes  
Runningwind – light brown tabby tom  
Mousefur – small dusky brown she-cat

**Apprentices:**  
Ravenpaw – small, skinny black tom with a tiny white dash on his chest, and a white-tipped tail  
Dustpaw – dark brown tabby tom  
Sandpaw – slender, pale ginger tabby she-cat  
Graypaw – long-haired gray tom with a darker stripe running down his back

**Queens:**  
Brindleface – pretty brown tabby she-cat  
Frostfur – beautiful white she-cat with blue eyes (mother of _Cinderkit_ ; a dark gray she-kit, _Brackenkit_ ; a golden-brown tabby tom, _Brightkit_ ; a white she-kit with ginger splotches, and _Thornkit_ ; a golden-brown tabby tom)  
Goldenflower – sleek, pale ginger tabby she-cat (mother of _Swiftkit_ ; a black-and-white tom)  
Speckletail – old, pale tabby she-cat

**Elders:**  
Halftail – big dark brown tabby tom with part of his tail missing  
Smallear – gray tom with small ears  
Rosetail – light ginger she-cat with a pinkish-orange tail  
Patchpelt – small black-and-white tom  
One-eye – pale gray she-cat  
Dappletail – once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat

** _ShadowClan_ **

****  
  
Leader:  
Brokenstar – long-haired dark brown tabby tom with a bent tail  
 ****  
  
Deputy:  
Blackfoot – large white tom with jet-black paws  
 ****  
  
Medicine Cat:  
Yellowfang – old dark gray she-cat with a broad, flattened face (Apprentice: _Runningnose_ )

 **Warriors:**  
Flintfang – gray tom  
Fernshade – tortoiseshell she-cat  
Clawface – battled-scarred brown tom  
Rowanberry – cream-and-brown she-cat  
Nutwhisker – brown tom with amber eyes  
Cinderfur – gray tom  
Stumpytail – brown tom with darker stripes and a short, stumpy tail (Apprentice: _Whitepaw_ )  
Boulder – silver tabby tom  
Russetfur – small, sleek dark ginger she-cat  
Wetfoot – gray tabby tom (Apprentice: _Oakpaw_ )  
Tangleburr – gray and brown she-cat (Apprentice: _Littlepaw_ )  
Applefur – mottled brown she-cat  
Ratscar – scarred dark brown tom  
Snowbird – pretty white she-cat

**Apprentices:**  
Runningnose – small gray-and-white tom ( _medicine cat apprentice_ )  
Oakpaw – small brown tom  
Littlepaw – very small tabby tom  
Whitepaw – black tom with a white chest and paws

**Queens:**  
Dawncloud – small, pale ginger she-cat  
Darkflower – black she-cat  
Tallpoppy – long-legged light brown tabby she-cat (expecting Flintfang’s kits)  
Brightflower – black-and-white she-cat

**Elders:**  
Nightfur – sickly, sleek black tom  
Ashfur – thin gray tom

** _RiverClan_ **

****  
  
Leader:  
Crookedstar – huge light brown tabby tom with a twisted jaw  
 ****  
  
Deputy:  
Leopardfur – dappled, golden tabby she-cat with unusual golden spots  
 ****  
  
Medicine Cat:  
Mudfur – long-haired light brown tom

 **Warriors:**  
Mistyfoot – glossy blue-gray she-cat  
Stonefur – stocky, battle-scarred blue-gray tom  
Skyheart – pale brown tabby she-cat  
Blackclaw – smoky black tom with a long tail (Apprentice: _Heavypaw_ )  
Voleclaw – gray tom (Apprentice: _Vixenpaw_ )  
Beetlenose – broad-shouldered black tom (Apprentice: _Shadepaw_ )  
Petaldust – tortoiseshell she-cat (Apprentice: _Mosspaw_ )  
Loudbelly – dark brown tom (Apprentice: _Silverpaw_ )  
Whiteclaw – white tom  
Dawnbright – ginger-and-white she-cat  
Sedgecreek – mottled ginger-brown tabby she-cat  
Sunfish – light golden she-cat  
Frogleap – brown tom with a dark striped tail  
Silverstream – silver-gray she-cat with black tabby stripes

**Apprentices:**  
Grasspaw – small, brown-striped tabby tom  
Vixenpaw – thick-furred black she-cat  
Shadepaw – very dark gray she-cat  
Mosspaw – slim tortoiseshell she-cat  
Silverpaw – silver tom  
Heavypaw – stocky brown tom

**Queens:**  
Mallowtail – dark ginger-and-white she-cat (expecting Whiteclaw’s kits)

**Elders:**  
Graypool – old, thin gray she-cat with patchy fur and a scarred muzzle


	2. Prologue

The hills seemed to glow with the soft, silvery light of Silverpelt, the stars illuminating the moor until the grass seemed to glimmer and shift like flowing water in the breeze. The light winds ruffled the fur of a lanky black-and-white tom seated on a large rock that jutted out from the top of a slope. Below him, the moors stretched outward, peaceful and empty. To one side, the moors ended in blackness, the shadow of the Gorge cutting through the land before it reappeared on the opposite side, no longer the rolling slopes of the moors, but flatter land, land the tom knew from experience was springy and sodden with water. On the other side, the moors rolled on until they met the dark edge of the Thunderpath, beyond which he could see the silhouettes of the mountains outlined against the night sky. In front of him, the moorlands stretched on until they merged with the edge of the forest, the shadows of the trees obscuring his vision.

The tom pricked his ears and sat up straighter when a faint sound reached his ears – a distant yowl. His long tail flicked, agitated, and his amber eyes straining as he peered into the darkness around him, trying to pinpoint the sound. After several long moments of stifling silence, the black-and-white cat relaxed; there was no movement on his Clan’s territory but the sway of the grass, not even prey stirring from their burrows on such a tranquil night. The tom let out a relieved sigh, even as he cast his gaze into the gloom surrounding the open moors. Somewhere beyond the borders, the other Clans were fighting.

_But that is not my concern_ , the lone cat reminded himself. Still, he could not help but glance behind him one last time as he stood, eyeing the dim places beyond the borders with a wary gaze. He shook his head and turned away, leaving his perch and leaping down onto the grass to begin his trek back to camp, but he could not shake off a sense of unease that crept along his spine, getting under his fur and clinging to him as his muscles bunched and released beneath his sleek pelt, running back home as the hour grew late.

Something about the shadows unsettled him. In the bright moonlight, they morphed and changed with the breeze – almost as if they were alive.

* * *

A brown tom sat waiting for him when the black-and-white cat returned.

The returning tom nodded to his seated companion. “Barkface,” he greeted.

“Tallstar,” the other turned, dipping his head respectfully, though his whiskers and the tip of his stubby tail twitched with curiosity and worry as his friend settled beside him at the camp’s entrance, watching as his leader’s long tail swished back and forth behind him and his amber gaze fell to the sleeping forms of his Clanmates, each curled up in sleep with the stars of Silverpelt glittering above them comfortingly. Barkface bumped shoulders with his leader, snapping him out of his reverie and giving him a concerned look. “I hope everything is well on the moors?” he prompted cautiously, not wanting to agitate the other tom.

Tallstar shook himself slightly and nodded. “The moors are peaceful,” he reported, “Though I believe the other Clans are not having so peaceful a night as we are.” When his medicine cat blinked at him, frowning, Tallstar huffed slightly, adding, “It was well outside of our territory – I could not see where the conflict was, even from Outlook Rock. Our borders are safe. Though,” he went on, eyes darkening slightly as he recalled the strange sense of unease that had made him restless all night, the feeling that had led his paws out of camp in the first place and only grown as he watched the shadows around him, “I wonder how long we can keep it that way.”

Barkface sighed beside him. “WindClan has not been defeated on our own territory in any battle for some time now.”

“Yes,” Tallstar conceded, “But the season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. WindClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.” He flicked his tail, once again casting his gaze over the huddle of sleeping bodies in the center of camp, as if checking to reassure himself that they were all still there.

“But the year is only just beginning,” Barkface reminded him, his voice calm as he leaned into his old friend’s side reassuringly. “There will be more kits when greenleaf comes.”

Tallstar pressed back against the other tom briefly in acknowledgment of the comfort, though his posture remained tense and his paws shifted restlessly against the earth. “Perhaps. But training our young to become warriors takes time. If WindClan is to defend its territory, we must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

Barkface watched him for a moment before murmuring, “Is it StarClan you ask for answers?”

The black-and-white tom blinked, glancing briefly at his Clanmate, before looking up at the night sky. His amber eyes wheeled with the bright spots of starlight piercing the darkness. “I place as much trust in my warriors as I do in our ancestors,” he replied at length, “But their wisdom is always welcomed.” He turned to Barkface again. “Has StarClan spoken to you?”

The brown tom shook his head. “Not for some moons, Tallstar.”

Both of them returned their gazes to the vast expanse of Silverpelt.

Suddenly, a light flashed through the sky high above them: a shooting star. Barkface gasped quietly. His stubby tail twitched against the ground and the fur along his spine bristled, as his eyes grew wide. Tallstar’s ears pricked, but he, too, remained fixed upon the blaze of light, his mind reeling, scrambling to understand the sudden maelstrom of emotions consuming him.

After a few moments, Barkface lowered his head once more. He turned to Tallstar, and the WindClan leader looked back at him in a daze. “It was a message from StarClan,” he said breathlessly, eyes still wide, as if the streak in the sky had burned all the air from his lungs.

Tallstar flicked his tail, trying to regain his bearings. “What did they say?” he asked.

Barkface met Tallstar’s eyes, gold to amber, and mewed in a somber, ominous voice, “Fire alone can save our Clan.”

“Fire?” Tallstar echoed, confused and unsettled by both the omen and the pang of familiarity it evoked from him. “But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it save us?”

Barkface shook his head. “I do not know,” he admitted. “But this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me.”

The WindClan leader stared at his medicine cat a moment longer before fixing his sharp amber eyes on the stars, searching for any burning remnants of the presage in the night, hoping they might help him understand the feelings he’d experienced watching the star flare across the sky. “You have never been wrong before, Barkface,” he meowed. “If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will save our Clan.”


	3. Chapter 1

Rusty suppressed a shiver as a cold breeze ruffled his fur, rustling the leaves on the tree branches above him. It was very dark here, and the ginger tom opened his eyes wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth, observing his surroundings. This place was unfamiliar to him, but as he parted his jaws to scent the air, strange new smells coaxed him into continuing onward; his bright pelt dimmed in the shadows, he slunk through the grass, the scents of moss and leaves on his tongue, along with the faint, teasing aroma of some small, woodland creature.

His ears pricked as something shifted in the foliage ahead, and he managed to spot a tiny flash of gray less than two tail-lengths away through the dim light. He knew it was a mouse – he could hear the little critter’s shuffling, knew it was unaware of his presence as he watched it intently, he slowly lowering his body into a crouch, as he was downwind of the animal. He gathered his legs underneath him, heartbeat speeding as he coiled his muscles beneath him and pushed back hard on his haunches, springing forward and kicking up leaves on the forest floor.

He cleared the distance and pounced on the mouse. The creature let out an alarmed squeak and managed to slip out of his paws, trying to run for cover – but the young cat was too quick! He dove forward, hooking the mouse with his claws and scooping it up, flinging it into the air in a high arc. Rusty grinned and wriggled his haunches, bolting forward to trap the dazed rodent as it hit the ground – 

But suddenly there was a roaring noise nearby, distracting Rusty long enough for the mouse to escape his grasp, darting off and disappearing between the roots of a tree. The tom jerked his head around, green eyes wide and glaring, trying to find to source of the noise that had cost him his prey. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar.

By the time Rusty had blinked open his eyes, the forest around him had disappeared. He saw by the moonlight filtering in through the window that he was in his housefolk’s den, the night sky outside illuminating the kitchen and casting shadows onto the smooth, hard floor. The clatter that had disrupted his hunt was the sound of one of his housefolk pouring the dried pellets they fed him into his bowl. 

Rusty rolled onto his belly and yawned widely, trying to savor the remnants of his dream, lifting one of his hind paws to scratch at his neck, his collar making him uncomfortable in the stagnant heat of the room. The bell tinkled at him as he did so, reminding him of the more satisfying sound of the soft crunch of leaves beneath his paws in the forest and the feeling of grass brushing his fur as it swayed in the breeze. In his dream, that breeze had ruffled the fur usually pinched by his collar. This was the third time he had dreamed of that mouse in the last moon, and each time the creature had somehow managed to escape his grasp.

Rusty sat up and stretched slowly, huffing slightly to himself when his housefolk called to him and jostled his bowl, as if trying to draw further attention to the fact that the dry pellets were all he had to eat, instead of a plump, tasty mouse. He wrinkled his nose against their dusty smell, but it was already chasing away the lingered scent of mouse from his dream. He sighed and cast a glance at the metallic dish, but did not approach it. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he was not in the mood for tasteless pellets.

Instead, he turned away, heading through the cat flap and into the garden, hoping the sights, sounds, and smells of the outside world would bring back the feelings from his dream. The shadows cast by the bushes in the tidy garden were small and black, unlike the long, smoky ones that fell over the forest in his dream, fading from light to dark and back, hiding things like the mouse he’d been trying to catch. Rusty shook his head and made his way through the garden, staying on the grass rather than using the gravel path that cut through the yard; the stones would be cold without the sun to warm them, and he knew from experience that they were sharp and uncomfortable to walk on – he much preferred the grass, which was springy and damp beneath his paws from a recent rain. He felt the urge to race through it and send the little droplets scattering in the moonlight, but instead he leaped up onto the fence surrounding his lawn, perching there to look out over the neighboring gardens and into the dense forest on the other side of the fence.

His stomach gave another grumble, and he grimaced slightly. Perhaps there would be robins in old Henry’s yard come morning that he could eat? He glanced at the sky. The moon still hung over his head, but he thought perhaps it was beginning to tilt back towards the earth. He hoped dawn would come soon.

“Howdy, Rusty!” a friendly call interrupted his thoughts. The ginger tom looked across the fence to see a familiar black-and-white cat hopping up onto the fence from his own yard, landing sloppily and wobbling for a few moments before he regained his balance.

“Hey, Smudge,” Rusty returned the greeting, purring and twitching his whiskers in amusement at his friend’s ungraceful movements.

Smudge edged a bit closer to the other cat along the fence, but the fat young tom moved slowly, careful not to lose his footing again. Still, he smiled amicably when he eventually stopped beside his companion. “What’re you up to?” he asked curiously.

“Not sure yet,” Rusty laughed. He glanced past his friend into the forest beyond. Woodland scents wafted toward him on the faint night breeze, reminding him of the leaves and moss he had smelled in his dream – only these smells were sharper, more alive: not a dream. He swiveled his ears, as if he could pick up the sounds of a mouse scuffling along the forest floor from such a distance. Could he catch one for real out there? He wanted to try. He rose from his seated position and turned to face the forest more fully, studying the sway of the trees in the wind, his tail-tip twitching tentatively. “I think I want to go take a look in the forest.”

His friend’s amber eyes grew huge. “Are you crazy? Don’t go out there!” Smudge mewed, his ears pinned back in alarm. “Henry went out there once, and he says there are wildcats as big as dogs!”

Rusty scoffed, “That fat old tabby never went into the woods! He probably just daydreamed about it from his fence.”

“But he did! He caught a robin there, he showed it to me!” Smudge protested.

The ginger tom reflected on his plan to get breakfast in Henry’s yard, but refrained from mentioning the presence of the birds to Smudge. “Well, he certainly hasn’t gone since his trip to the vet. All he does now is eat, sleep, and roll around in the sun. He _complains_ about birds now for disturbing him while he’s lazing around.”

“Still!” the plump tom puffed out his fur, insistent, “I’ve heard there’s all sorts of dangerous animals out there! Big, mean wildcats that sharpen their claws on bones and eat little cats like us!”

Rusty suppressed a sigh, assuring his friend, “I only want to look around. I won’t stay long.”

Smudge frowned, still looking troubled, but eventually nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, though his tail lashed slightly in agitation, “Be careful, Rusty.” A moment later, he brightened, adding in a more playful tone, “And you better share if you catch anything!”

Rusty laughed, poking a paw at his friend’s round belly. “Catch something yourself, you greedy pigeon!” he teased. He turned away, crouching for a moment before he leaped lightly down onto the rough grass on the other side of the garden fence, the bell on his collar making a tinkling sound. Looking into the shadowed forest, he hesitated for a moment, nervously licking his chest fur and wondering how much of Smudge’s gossip was true.

He shook himself and began to pad into the forest ahead, beginning to smile as he looked about the forest, tasting its smells and listening to its movements, the reality even better than his dream as it flooded his senses. The faint rustle of a fern caught his attention, and he turned his head to catch the movement of a small gray creature scuttling under some brambles: a _real_ mouse. He instinctively dropped into a crouch. Keeping his body low to the ground, he slowly placed one paw in front of the other, drawing forward through the undergrowth silently. He flared his nostrils and stared unblinkingly at his target, all his senses focused on the hunt. He watched the critter sit up and nibble on a seed clutched between its paws, unaware of Rusty as he stopped a short distance from it, wiggling his haunches as he prepared to pounce. He held his breath, hoping his bell wouldn’t ring and alert his prey, and felt excitement course through him when his collar made no sound, adrenaline making his heart pound. He was finally going to catch a mouse!

Suddenly, the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves reached his ears from nearby. The mouse darted off, and though Rusty leaped to try to catch it, it vanished into the thick tangle of the bramble bush and escaped him. The young cat let out a frustrated huff, but quickly forgot his vexation as he heard more rustling in the undergrowth, instead growing still and looking about him with wide eyes, trying to find the source of the noise. Something was in the bushes. Rusty couldn’t resist creeping towards the sound, narrowing his eyes curiously as it paused for a moment. He didn’t realize he was in danger until whatever was moving suddenly changed course, its sounds loud, fast-approaching, and heading directly towards him.

His attacker exploded out of the bushes and barreled into him head-on, knocking him off his paws and sending him spinning sideways into a clump of nettles. Twisting and yowling, he managed to unbalance the creature that had latched onto his back, tearing himself away from its sharp claws and darting away just in time as he felt teeth click shut a hair’s breadth from his neck. He stumbled for a moment, unable to find his footing, and the creature was on him again, clawing at his flanks and biting at his shoulder, pressing its weight against him as he writhed and squirmed, trying to get away. For a second, he felt helpless, panic rising in his chest, but, thinking quickly, he managed to flip over onto his back, heartbeat spiking as he instinctively knew how dangerous it was to expose his soft belly to an assailant. Luckily, his ploy seemed to work; he heard a wheeze as the breath was knocked out of his opponent, causing the creature to loosen its grip enough that Rusty could thrash free from its grasp. He stumbled a few steps away before whirling to face his attacker, out of breath but full of adrenaline, every muscle tense and ready for battle.

He was baffled by what he saw – his opponent was another kitten! The she-cat looked a bit older than him, and Rusty could clearly see the strength in her body, each of her limbs lean with muscle, even as she staggered to her own paws, looking a bit dazed. Once the other cat regained her senses, however, she narrowed her eyes in a fierce green glare, and she arched her spine, fur spiked as she spat, “Get out of our territory!”

The ginger tom was immediately back on the defensive, curling his claws into the grass and hissing back at the tabby, prepared to fight if the other kitten decided to attack him again, but they were both interrupted as a trio of larger shapes emerged from the bushes. All three were toms, unlike Rusty's attacker, but these three were fully grown, muscled like the young pale ginger she-cat, two of them glowering at Rusty with the same ferocity that she had, while the other remained more neutral, though his stoic expression didn’t seem very welcoming. Rusty gulped fearfully as they approached.

“What is a kittypet doing in the forest?” the stoic one inquired. Even from a distance, Rusty could see that he was vividly white, his pelt almost glowing as the fading moonlight reflected off of it, looking almost regal next to the other toms beside him, their tabby pelts darker and not quite so blinding in the dark. His yellow eyes were bright with interest, despite his comparatively mild tone.

“Trespassing, no doubt,” one of the other toms sneered. His dark gray coat rippled as he took a single, threatening step forward. “Stealing our food to feed his fat belly!"

Beside him, the third adult cat spat scornfully and lashed his long, striped tail. "Don't you get enough of that disgusting slop your _Twolegs_ feed you without having to _steal_?"  
Finally finding his voice, Rusty protested indignantly, "I only wanted to catch a mouse or two! Surely you can spare."

The growls that immediately rumbled in the three tabbies' throats and the way the white tom narrowed his yellow eyes at him all told him that he had said the wrong thing. The youngest cat hissed viciously at him, while the dark tabby lashed his tail and unsheathed his claws, snarling wildly. "You ignorant _kittypet scum!_ " the long-tailed tom hissed furiously, unsheathing his claws and crouching low, blue eyes glittering with hostility. "I'll claw your pelt off for stealing ThunderClan prey!"

Terror seized Rusty's heart.

The moment the other cat sprang at him, Rusty turned tail and fled, pulse racing wildly. This was different from his fight with the pale ginger kitten. This was a fully-grown cat, stronger and faster than Rusty, intent on ripping him limb from limb. And even if he could take this cat on, there were three others with him! Faintly, he heard the white tom yell, "Longtail, no!" but Rusty's focus was on running; _I should have listened to Smudge!_ he thought despairingly, muscles and lungs already burning as he tore through the forest, running for his life. _I never should have come here!_


	4. Chapter 2

The crunch and snap of the underbrush filled Rusty’s ears with the wild, panicked thudding of his heart, every sound bubbling and strange, like it was being muffled by water, due to the blood pounding in his ears. His muscles had stopped screaming at him, stopped sending shrieking, protesting heat through his body as his soft legs were forced to work harder than they ever had before – now, his entire body was a strange mixture of numb and hyper-aware, adrenaline coursing through him and lending strength to his limbs. Yet, the adrenaline could not stop his ragged breathing, the clicking of his throat when he gasped harsh inhales and rattled out wheezed exhales past the dryness. Everything hurt. But he couldn’t stop.

Behind him, he heard the crashing of his own hurried pawsteps through the foliage echoed by the powerful strides of his pursuer. He thought he heard screeches at one point – that white tom yelling after the tabby chasing Rusty, telling him to stop again, perhaps, but the younger cat did not slow down to find out. He was already at a disadvantage, smaller than his hunter and not used to rigorous exercise. He knew that if he faltered, he would be caught.

He only avoided yelping in fear when he heard a growl behind him and felt teeth snap close to the tip of his tail because he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to make a sound. He pushed himself to move faster.

His heart juddered oddly in his chest, caught between worry and hope, when he spotted a flash of pure green ahead: a break in the tree line. There was open land beyond the forest. Rusty wasn’t sure whether having no obstacles to dodge would help him escape, or if the lack of places to hide would doom him. _I can’t stop, whatever the consequences,_ the ginger tom reminded himself, his breaths hurting to force in and out as the air dried out his throat. He set his sights on the grassy field; dawn just beginning to shed its light on the open space in the distance. A faint sob choked him as he forced his exhausted body to work even harder, running for his life.

He heard another faraway caterwaul somewhere behind him as he cleared the trees, the sound closer this time, not entirely drowned out by the growling and heavy footfalls of the larger tom on Rusty’s tail. Rusty hissed between his teeth as the land began to slope upward, causing the uncomfortable numbness of his limbs to be replaced by a scorching, painful sensation as the new strain battled his already wearied body. The young cat barreled over windswept sward, his heartbeat spiking in alarm every time one of his paws nearly slipped on the smooth grass.

 

Suddenly, he saw a flash of color on the moor ahead of him. Still sprinting forward at top speed with the wind in his eyes, it took Rusty a few moments to realize that the shape was another cat. It took another moment to realize that that cat was heading straight towards him. He let out a terrified wheeze, paws scrambling as he tried to change direction, tried to turn off to one side so as to avoid both the incoming feline and the vicious tom following him, but before he could get a good foothold, the cat ahead of him sprang forward. The ginger kittypet scrambled to a halt, trying to prepare himself to meet the attack, but the new cat did not collide with him. Instead, the newcomer sailed past him. He whipped his head around just in time to watch a brown tabby slam into the long-tailed tom that had been chasing him and bowl the pale cat over.

Rusty could only stand, stunned, for a few seconds, watching the two cats wrestle and claw at each other, screeches rising from their writhing forms. Then, he saw some of the cats from the earlier patrol emerge from the edge of the forest as well; he jolted, preparing to run again, before three more cats sailed over his head, meeting the other cats head on and immediately joining the fray. Amidst the hissing, snarling, and flying chunks of fur and blood, a voice rang out.

“ _Stop!_ ”

The cats sprang apart, forming two separate lines, on one side stood the cats he had met before – the white tom, the dark tabby, the pale tabby with the long tail, and the pale ginger kitten that had attacked him initially. On the other, a group of strangers: a brown tabby – the cat Rusty had seen fly into battle first – a light brown she-cat, a gray tabby, and a black tom, who raised his head and squared his shoulders proudly, glaring at the other group. After a few moments, the black tom spoke.

“What are you doing on WindClan territory?” he demanded, unwelcoming and displeased, with just a hint of a growl in his voice.

“We don’t have to tell anything to you, rabbit-eaters!” the pale tom snapped, flattening his ears against his head. Rusty noted that one of them was bleeding from a small cut.

“ _Longtail!_ ” Surprisingly, the sharp, angry reprimand did not come from the opposing group. The white tom swung his head around to fix his companion with a furious look, baring his teeth slightly. When the pale tabby shrunk back, quieting immediately, the other tom turned back to the other cats, addressing the black tom. “I apologize, Deadfoot,” he mewed, dipping his head respectfully, “We did not mean to trespass.”

“Rabbit-dung!” hissed the gray tabby. The black tom – Deadfoot – silenced her with a flick of his tail.

“How do you explain this, then, Whitestorm?” Deadfoot asked, still sounding interrogative and unconvinced, but no longer outright growling, and the fur bristling on his back had flattened slightly.

“Sandpaw came across an intruder in our territory,” the other cat replied, nodding towards Rusty. The ginger tom gulped slightly when several sets of eyes were turned on him. “She attacked him, attempting to drive him away, but he put up a fight instead of running. When Darkstripe, Longtail, and I arrived, the kittypet said he had intended to catch prey on our territory. Longtail lost his temper and chased the kittypet here,” he shot another reproving glance at his companion as he concluded.

Deadfoot glanced away from Whitestorm to look at Rusty himself. The ginger kitten, still panting and shivering with exertion, could only meet the dark tom’s gaze with his own, wide-eyed and slightly dazed. He observed Rusty for a moment, and then turned back to the rival group of cats. “You would do well to remember where the borders are next time,” he intoned pointedly to Longtail, ignoring the hiss he got in return, and added to the yellow-eyed tom, “And you would do well to control your warriors next time, Whitestorm.”

The tom in question flicked an ear, face briefly contorting in offended irritation, but he nodded. “We have no quarrel with WindClan,” he assured, dipping his head once again to Deadfoot. “We apologize for intruding. This will not happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the black cat replied, dipping his head back.

Whitestorm turned, waving his tail at the others. They followed him, the dark tabby wordlessly, while the pale tabby huffed faintly, casting a brief glare over his shoulder at the other four cats, and the pale ginger she-cat fell into step beside the white tom. Rusty thought for a moment that the other kitten looked back at him for a moment, green meeting green, but the next moment he was watching the whole patrol retreat into the forest, not a one of them looking back.

Rusty refocused his gaze when movement nearby gained his attention. The remaining cats were turning to look at him, now. The ginger tom swallowed nervously.

“What was a kittypet like you doing hunting on ThunderClan land?” the dusky tom asked, tilting his head as he studied Rusty.

The young cat could not muster any of indignance he had felt earlier when asked the same question; his legs were still shaky with overexertion, and he was still on edge amongst these strangers, the pale, creeping light of sunrise painting them eerie and intimidating, though they seemed overall less hostile than the other four cats had been. “I just wanted to hunt,” he said, as clearly as he could with his throat still dry and sore. “I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“You have more than enough food in your Twoleg nest already,” the brown she-cat piped up. Rusty’s gaze snapped to her, surprised to hear her speak. She had been the quietest of the group throughout the altercation with the other cats, yet now she was addressing him directly, observing him with calm green eyes as she spoke. “You hunt only for sport. We hunt to survive.”

The truth of her words pierced Rusty like a thorn, sharp and clear, and he suddenly understood the other cats’ anger. He looked back towards the trees with wide eyes. His body grew still as he finally stopped trembling, and he found himself breathing more measuredly. “I had not thought of it that way before,” he murmured. He glanced down at his paws before he raised his gaze to meet those of the group in front of him, straightening his ears and squaring his shoulders. “I won’t hunt in the forest again,” he promised. “I won’t take any of your prey.”

The brown she-cat looked pleased, while the black tom gazed at Rusty with considering eyes. “You’re quite the unusual kittypet,” he remarked. “What is your name?”

“Rusty,” the ginger cat replied.

The other tom nodded in acknowledgement. “Twolegplace is in ThunderClan territory,” he informed him. Rusty glanced back towards the forest. He couldn’t see the tops of any roofs from here, even on the slightly raised ground of the moor. “But it is quite some distance away. Perhaps you would like to rest and treat your wounds before making the journey back to your home?”

“What?” Oh. He had shallow scratches and bite marks from his scrap with the other kitten. He hadn’t noticed them until now. He found that they stung slightly when he shifted. “Yes, I… Thank you.”

The black cat nodded and began to make his way up the hill. Rusty noted for the first time that the dark tom had a twisted paw that caused him to limp as he walked. The others fell into step behind him, the two she-cats following closely while the other brown cat approached him. He looked older and bigger than Rusty, but he was far younger than the other cats, and he smiled somewhat tentatively when he came up to Rusty.

“Hello,” he greeted, “I’m Onepaw.” The two young toms began to trail the older cats side by side. Onepaw twitched an ear, amber eyes bright with curiosity, though his voice and manner remained diffident. “Did you really run all the way from the forest to the moors?”

Rusty flicked his tail, beginning to smile himself. “I don’t know how far it was, really. I ran most of the way.”

The other tom’s smile grew, and he seemed to step lighter. “You don’t sound so much like a kittypet to me,” he chuckled slightly.


	5. Chapter 3

Rusty was panting slightly as he climbed after Deadfoot and the rest of the group up yet another grassy slope. His body’s exertions had finally caught up with him now that the adrenaline of running for his life had worn off, and he found himself exhausted, stumbling slightly as he tried to keep up with the other cats’ longer strides. One particular cut on his shoulder twinged uncomfortably anytime he took a step forward, but he gritted his teeth and pushed onward; these cats had helped him – saved his life, probably – and were now being kind enough to offer him a place to rest and heal. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful by complaining.

“We’re almost there,” Onepaw assured him with an encouraging smile. “Can you smell it?”

Rusty lifted his nose and sniffed the air. He could smell the sharp tang of grass, unfamiliar scents of moorland plants, and under that… “I smell cats,” he exclaimed, surprised, “A _lot_ of cats.”

We all can name each of our Clanmates by scent,” Onepaw stated proudly, smiling and waving his tabby tail high when Rusty inhaled again, green eyes wide as he took in the smell again, trying to imagine being able to tell them apart, let alone know each by name.

“We’re here,” the brown she-cat announced ahead.

Rusty stumbled to a stop before he bumbled straight into a thicket of gorse bushes. Before he could wonder at the copse of spiny plants or worry that perhaps he had been wrong to trust these cats, he saw Deadfoot duck his dark head and push into a passage that Rusty had not seen between the thorns. The two she-cats followed him into the tunnel. The ginger tom glanced to Onepaw in time to see the brown tabby beckon him with a twitch of his tail-tip, before he, too, followed the path under the spikes. Rusty stepped forward after the group, ducking his head and flattening his ears to his head to avoid pricking them.

The passage was longer than he had expected, but he followed the sound of Onepaw’s pawsteps whenever lost sight of the faint outline of his form that he could just barely make out in the gloom. The dense gorse blocked out most of the mid-morning light, leaving the space beneath dim and cool; the lack of light chilled the sandy earth beneath Rusty’s paws, soothing his sore pads after the beating they had taken during his earlier flight from the forest. As he walked forward, the smell of many cats grew stronger, and Rusty began to pick up on the sound of indistinct chatter somewhere ahead of him. He saw the light of the outside world shining ahead around Onepaw’s form. The young tom hurried his steps when that form slid out from under the gorse in front of him, ducking his head slightly as he, too, emerged from the gorse behind the rest of the patrol.

A large, sandy clearing lay at the center of the gorse thicket. The ground beneath Rusty’s paws was warmer, here, touched by the sun’s rays, but still relatively cool – whether by the recentness of the sun’s rising or simply by nature, he did not know. Many cats milled about in the clearing. Near the entrance of the tunnel where he was standing, Rusty saw a pale brown she-cat swat her tail over the ears of a dark gray tom with white patches dotting his pelt. To his right, Rusty observed a mottled dark brown tabby conversing with a gray tabby tom sporting a tattered ridge where one of his ears would be. Beside them, a light gray tabby she-cat sat quietly, the tip of her tail twitching impatiently. A ways ahead, to his left, Rusty spied a pair of cats lying in green nests partially hidden within the gorse bushes, both gray, though one of them was darker than the other. On the opposite side of the clearing from him, Rusty spotted a trio of she-cats – one gray, one gray-and-brown, and one tortoiseshell – watching two young cats wrestle on the ground in front of them. And, jutting up from the ground at one end of the large hollow, a tall gray stone rose above everything else, contoured with many ridges and edges, yet oddly smooth-looking, striking amidst the relatively flat landscape.

Rusty stared with wide eyes.

“Mudclaw!” Deadfoot called out. Rusty turned his head to his side to see the mottled brown tabby talking with the two gray cats lift his head. He rose and trotted towards them immediately, saying something to his two companions over his shoulder as he departed. The tom nodded, but the she-cat seemed almost to ignore him, instead diverting the darker tabby’s attention with some question that Rusty did not hear. The other tom – Mudclaw – approached the party that had escorted Rusty with a respectful nod.

“Deadfoot,” he greeted, polite and vaguely expectant, the tips of his ears flicking.

“Where is Tallstar?” Deadfoot asked, turning his head to scan the clearing, as if he could have somehow missed the cat he was looking for in such an open environment.

“He went hunting with Wrenflight, Flyfall, and Bristlepelt,” the other tom replied. He tipped his head subtly towards the pale brown she-cat from earlier, who was now shaking her head and laughing at something the gray-and-white tom was saying, a faint, amused smirk tugging the corners of Mudclaw’s muzzle upwards as he went on, “Rabbitleap stayed behind to talk to _Pigeonwing_.”

Deadfoot twitched his whiskers in understanding, amusement flashing in his own eyes. “Well, then, is Barkface somewhere around camp? We have a visitor whose wounds need seeing to.”

Mudclaw turned his eyes towards Rusty for the first time. His face immediately contorted into a sneer, his earlier good humor disappearing. “A _kittypet_?” he muttered disbelievingly, scorn evident in his voice. Rusty bristled at the tone and gaze of the other tom, fluffing up slightly at his evident hostility as he questioned, “What is _he_ doing here?”

“He was chased into our territory by a ThunderClan patrol,” informed the gray tabby from Rusty’s side. “That ThunderClan tom Longtail followed him onto WindClan land, so we chased him and the rest of the patrol off,” she went on, her paws flexing against the ground as she spoke.

Deadfoot concluded, “The kittypet was wounded, and his Twoleg nest is quite far from our borders, so we offered to let him mend his injuries before he attempted the journey back.” Seemingly unconcerned with Mudclaw’s apparent unfriendliness, the black cat shifted on his one good paw, looking around again and restating his question, “Where is Barkface?”

Though he still looked unhappy, Mudclaw responded dutifully, “He was in his den last I heard.”

The dark tom dipped his head to the other, acknowledging him mildly, “Thank you, Mudclaw. That will be all.” He turned back around to face his posse, speaking to them as the dappled brown cat retreated further into the camp. “Tallstar must be informed of our visitor, so should anyone see him return to camp before I do, make sure to tell him what is going on. Ryestalk, Doespring, you’re dismissed.” The two she-cats nodded and padded off, while Deadfoot turned towards the two remaining cats. “Onepaw, would you show Rusty to Barkface’s den? After that, you may eat and rest. You did well today.”

Onepaw’s fur fluffed up at the praise, and he smiled up at Deadfoot with pride on his face, even as he shuffled his paws slightly. “Thank you, Deadfoot,” he rejoined. He turned to Rusty only when the older cat had turned to pad away, gait accommodating his twisted paw easily. Rusty refocused on the tabby in front of him when Onepaw called him, “Come on, Barkface’s den is just across camp. He can get you something for your scratches.”

Rusty trotted after the tabby readily, his scratches still stinging and his paw pads sore and aching from overuse. Some cats glanced at them curiously as they passed by, but no one interrupted them, and Rusty wasn’t confronted with hostility again. The ginger tom shot the massive rock jutting up from the ground an inquisitive look as they passed it, but continued to follow after Onepaw as he kept moving, leading Rusty to the wall of gorse bushes furthest from the entry tunnel. Amongst the thorns, Rusty saw an opening, the ground sloping slightly within, and trailed after his guide as the brown tom padded ahead of him and stuck his head into the den.

“Good morning, Barkface,” Onepaw called.

Peering into the den, Rusty identified another brown tom. This one, however, was not a tabby like Onepaw, and his tail was short and stumpy. The other tom looked up with the stems of some plants Rusty didn’t recognize still in his jaws. When his gaze lighted upon Onepaw, he swiftly set down the shoots and righted himself with a pleasant smile. “Onepaw,” he returned the greeting. “Did you need something?”

“We have a visitor,” the younger cat mewed. Barkface’s gaze turned to Rusty, and his eyes immediately widened, becoming deep yellow pools as he blinked at him. Rusty tried not to fidget under the stare, feeling oddly scrutinized by the older cat. 

“How did a kittypet find his way to our territory?” Barkface asked, voice inquisitive by strangely distant, like he was lost in thought even as he said it.

Rusty was left feeling somewhat unsettled when Onepaw’s voice drew the other’s gaze away from him once more. “A ThunderClan patrol chased him here,” he replied. “He has some cuts on his pelt, and Deadfoot offered to let him rest here before he had to make the trip all the way back to the Twolegplace.”

Barkface nodded promptly in understanding and stood, all traces of distraction falling away. “Yes, that would be wise,” he agreed briskly. He tilted his head towards the far end of his den, “If you would follow me, I can treat those scratches for you before you take your rest.”

“Thank you,” Rusty meowed, starting after him as the older cat began to move in the direction he’d indicated, drifting further under the shade of the gorse bushes.

“Bye, Rusty,” Onepaw bid him farewell from the mouth of the den.

“Goodbye, Onepaw,” Rusty stammered, looking over his shoulder in time to see Onepaw spare him a smile before moving off, back around the perimeter of the camp.

Rusty himself returned his attention to Barkface, who was bent over an assortment of leaves, stalks, and flowers, all organized in neat piles. He obeyed when Barkface told him to sit down in one of the nests that laid towards the back of his den. His paws were already feeling soothed when they came into contact with the soft moss.

“Alright, then,” the muddy tom turned back towards him with a bundle of herbs in his mouth, paws beginning to unwrap the parcel when he set it down to speak, “Let’s see what we can do about those scratches.”

Barkface bent his head again to chew some of the leaves into a pulp. Rusty watched quietly. He was slightly uneasy at being left alone with this cat – the feeling he had gotten when the other had seen him for the first time, the wide-eyed yet absent look he had seen in those yellow eyes, had unsettled him – but, he thought as he watched the elder work, perhaps he had simply been imagining things. Barkface certainly didn’t seem to have any ill intentions now; once the sprigs had been reduced to a sticky green paste, he quickly sniffed out the few thin nicks in his coat and spread a little of the mixture over each of them. The patient hissed slightly at the sensation, his wounds stinging anew at the touch of the salve, but he did not flinch away, allowing the healer to continue his treatment. Barkface was quiet through the process, but it felt like a focused silence. Rusty was surprised when he broke it.

“Why were you in ThunderClan territory?” he queried.

“Huh?” Rusty replied intelligently, startled out of his own thoughts.

“Onepaw said that a ThunderClan patrol had chased you onto the moors. What were you doing in their territory?” he clarified, tone not accusatory or unfriendly, but genuinely intrigued.

“…I was trying to catch a mouse,” the green-eyed tom admitted. He looked down at his paws, conscious of the leanness of Barkface’s form – even without the sturdy muscle that Onepaw, Deadfoot, and the others cats he had met had possessed – in comparison to his own plump belly. “I dreamed of hunting in the forest a lot in my housefolk’s den, so, I… I thought maybe I could try to hunt for real.” He swished his tail along the cool, earthy floor of the den, ducking his head and flattening his ears slightly as he muttered, “It didn’t go very well.”

“None of the Clans take others stealing their prey lightly,” Barkface said, not unkindly.

“I know,” Rusty replied, lifting his head to meet the other’s gaze with his own, “The brown she-cat with Onepaw and Deadfoot explained it to me. I don’t need that prey; it was selfish of me to try to hunt when I have plenty to eat already. I won’t try to hunt on anyone’s territory again.”

Barkface hummed, whiskers twitching and a faint smile appearing on his muzzle. “Doespring is a wise cat,” he asserted, familiar fondness in his voice. Rusty sensed approval in the older cat’s mew. “She is one of our senior warriors, and has been loyal to WindClan for many seasons.” He smoothed another glob of herbs over a cut on one of Rusty’s haunches.

“Is survival really so hard here?” he asked softly.

“It can be, at times,” responded Barkface. “Each Clan only lays claim to a certain amount of territory. We all have our own resources that we rely on. Depending on a Clan’s size, its warriors may have to work harder to support it.”

“Is your Clan very big?” Rusty meowed, whiskers twitching with interest.

“It certainly feels like it at times,” the brown tom laughed slightly. “We have enough cats to provide for the Clan and defend our borders, at least.”

“Are you all warriors then?” the younger enquired. The more Barkface spoke, the more inquisitive he became, more questions building in his mind every time he was given an answer.

Barkface laughed slightly, sitting back from his work. “Not all of us,” he corrected. He looked his patient over once more, checking for any wounds he might have missed. “When warriors grow old, they retire and become elders, and before a cat can become a warrior, they must be apprenticed. She-cats do not need to hunt and fight for the Clan while they are busy caring for kits, and cats that choose to learn the ways of herbs become medicine cats, like me, and take care of sick or injured cats.”

“And you all live and share prey together?” Rusty murmured in awe, again thinking guiltily of his own soft, easy life with his housefolk.

Barkface went quiet for a moment, tilting his head and giving Rusty a considering look. The uneasiness from earlier prickled along his spine; the other tom’s look was meaningful, but he could not decipher it. Rusty only just managed to suppress a cringe when Barkface leaned forward, but the elder only pressed a little salve into a tiny scratch on his foreleg before retreating. He settled on his haunches, apparently satisfied with his work, and met Rusty’s green eyes with his yellow ones.

“Perhaps you should find out these things for yourself,” he intoned, “Would you like to join WindClan?”

Rusty’s jaw dropped, stunned into silence.

Barkface went on: “If you accept, you would train beside Onepaw to become a warrior.” His stubby tail thumped against the ground as he spoke, “Of course, we can only offer you training. I cannot assure you that your efforts would lead to you becoming a full warrior. It might be too difficult for you. After all, you are used to a softer way of life.”

Stung by the other tom’s words, Rusty narrowed his eyes, his own tail-tip twitching. “Why offer me the chance, then?”

Barkface heaved a sigh. He looked to the side, eyes distant as he gazed out of the mouth of his den and into the daylight brightening the clearing outside. “The truth is, WindClan is _not_ very big. We need more warriors.” His expression was somber when he faced Rusty again. “If you choose to train with us, you would be taken in by the Clan and live here on our territory. If you choose to decline, you will have to leave after your scratches have healed, and never come back, either to the moors or to the forest – I imagine ThunderClan would not forgive trespassing a second time.”

A breeze from outside rustled the gorse above their heads. Rusty shivered, not with cold, but with giddy excitement at the incredible opportunity he was being offered. Yet… What about his housefolk? What about Smudge?

“Are you weighing the value of my offer against the life you already lead?” asked Barkface gently. “Life with your Twolegs will certainly be easier than life as a WindClan cat. When leafbare sets in, nights on the moors can be cruel – the snows often drive rabbits into their burrows and the birds from the skies. Finding food can be difficult, and the cold even worse. Providing for the Clan in such conditions will require dedication and tenacity. You will be expected to put others before yourself; there will be many mouths to feed, and, if necessary, you must protect the Clan with your life. But life here is rich,” Barkface smiled, casting another brief glance towards the entrance of his den, expression earnest and warm. “You will come to know the moors as well as your own pelt; you will learn what it is to be a real cat; with all the loyalty and strength with which you protect the Clan, the Clan will also protect you.”

Rusty’s head reeled. This cat was offering him the life he had always dreamed of, everything he had so vividly imagined, it seemed, every time he closed his eyes. But could he really live like that in the waking world?

“You do not have to give an answer now,” Barkface said at length. He glanced to the side, seeming to wince slightly at a thought. “I… admit that I have, perhaps, overstepped my bounds by asking you this without first receiving Tallstar’s approval.”

“Who is Tallstar?” Rusty asked, a bit nervous at Barkface’s obvious trepidation.

“WindClan’s leader,” Barkface informed him. He flicked an ear and caught Rusty’s gaze, calm again. “I will speak with him when he returns from hunting with his siblings. You may rest here longer if you wish.”

“No, I… I think I’d like to go back to my housefolk’s den and… And think about your offer,” Rusty responded slowly. He checked, “You said I could have some time to consider my answer?”

Barkface dipped his head. “If you will come to the edge of the moor tomorrow at sunhigh, I will ensure that someone is there to receive your answer,” he promised.

Rusty dipped his head in return. “Thank you, Barkface,” he expressed his gratitude, feeling a little dazed in the wake of everything that had just happened. He stumbled to his paws despite his weariness and confusion.

“You remember the way back to Twolegplace?” Barkface made sure, concern in his mew.

“Yes, I think so,” Rusty confirmed. He glanced at the brown cat one last time. “I’ll be there on the moor at sunhigh tomorrow to give you my answer.”

Barkface nodded. “I hope to see you again, Rusty.”


	6. Chapter 4

It was nearly dusk by the time Rusty had arrived back at his housefolk’s nest. Walking the sloping lands of the moors was tiring, especially with his already wearied body (even if Barkface’s treatment had soothed the sting out of his scratches and the cool breeze that blew over the grassland helped to refresh him), and he had been understandably cautious when he eventually reached the edge of the forest. He had crept through the trees as quietly as he had been able, cursing the bell on his collar the whole time, as he was not eager to run into another patrol of ThunderClan cats. The trek had been tiring and stressful, but eventually he saw the familiar line of fences, and jumped up onto one to make his way back to his own garden. He barely had the energy to stumble back through the cat flap into his housefolk’s nest and trip his way into the welcome softness of his bed to collapse into sleep.

Somehow, he had expected his exhaustion to leave him dreamless until morning, but instead, he found his mind drifting into a familiar fantasy almost as soon as he closed his eyes. He saw the movement of a small, furred creature ahead, darting amongst the underbrush, and instinctively dropped into a crouch. Yet, as he crept forward towards the mouse, the scene began to warp and change, the foliage melting away around him until only a few sparse bushes remained, and grass rolled out across his dreamscape in every direction. He could feel eyes on him as he slunk towards his prey, though he could not see any other cats, even with the cover of the forest stripped from his surroundings. Within range of his target, Rusty flattened himself to the ground, fur prickling under the attention of so many invisible gazes, muscles coiling in preparation of springing forward.

He woke as his paws left the ground, shaking off the phantom feeling of being watched as he blinked his green eyes open and dragged himself into an upright position. His paws itched with the desire to chase, to catch the prey he had been stalking in his dream, but he shook his head decisively to clear such thoughts from his mind. He had learned his lesson yesterday – he was not going to hunt in the forest again, not when he had food to spare and the wild cats he had encountered struggled for every morsel. _This is selfish_ , he scolded himself, attempting to distract himself from the continuous eager twitching of his paws by sitting up a bit and beginning to groom his ginger pelt. _I have everything I need already. Hunting in the forest would be stealing!_

But the forest was not where he had dreamed of hunting.

Rusty sat up straight, mind abuzz as he recalled the offer that had been given to him the previous day. The offer was exciting – it was everything he had ever wanted, the perfect culmination of the dreams he always woke from feeling bereft, yearning for the world beyond his garden fence. Yet, the prospect made him nervous, too. Barkface had warned him that there was no guarantee that he would become a warrior. Was it truly worth it to leave his life here behind and live instead on the moors with WindClan if there was still a chance that he might fail?

The young cat’s mind whirled, his thoughts going around in circles. Shaking his head, then the rest of his body in increments, as if doing so could dispel his own uncertainty, Rusty stood up from his nest and stretched. His muscles were still a bit sore from yesterday, the uncharacteristic workout he had been forced to endure leaving his limbs faintly aching. Despite the mild discomfort, the ginger tom couldn’t help but imagine pushing himself like that again – this time not running for his life through the unfamiliar forest, but perhaps bounding across the wide open moors, the wind at his back and the sun on his fur. But, if he chased that dream, would he ever see Smudge or his housefolk again?

Seeking some clarity, Rusty padded across the kitchen to crouch by his water bowl. Dipping his head to lap up some water, the tom cast a glance at his food bowl. Eyeing the hard food pellets, he made a face as he drank his fill, pulling away and licking the remaining water from his whiskers before heading towards the cat flap without eating anything, despite the slight rumbling of his stomach. Pushing through the flap, Rusty walked into his garden. Morning sunlight was spilling over the edge of the fence, illuminating the grass and bushes growing in the yard. He held his breath to avoid coughing as he passed the pungent flowers blossoming from one of the plants near the fence, breathing freely only once he had sprung up onto the fence. He found his balance and perched there, staring out into the forest once more, just as he had the previous night, before he had had his disastrous run-in with the wild cats living there.

Yet, still, his mind murmured doubts into his ear. _The wild cats of the forest might not welcome you, but those on the moors…_

His thoughts were interrupted when the fence wobbled beside him. Digging his claws in to retain his balance, Rusty looked over to see a familiar black-and-white cat standing on the fence around his own yard. “Rusty!” Smudge exclaimed, “Where were you? You were gone all night and I didn’t see you at all yesterday! I thought the wild cats had eaten you!”

“Sorry, Smudge,” Rusty apologized, feeling a stab of guilt at having worried his friend. “I didn’t really mean to be gone so long, but, I… Uh, I did, actually, meet some wild cats…”

“ _What?!_ ” Smudge shrieked, his eyes bugging out of his head and the fur along his spine standing on end. Shock poured off the black-and-white tom in waves. “Did you get into a fight?”

Rusty ducked his head slightly, his tail swishing. “…Yeah, sort of,” he admitted. He felt his fur prickle at the memory of all those furious gazes fixed on him.

“What happened?! Did you get hurt?” Smudge prompted him, eyes wide with concern and poorly masked curiosity.

“There were four of them –”

“You fought _four wild cats?!_ ” Smudge interrupted him.

“No!” Rusty corrected hastily. “Just the youngest one. The other three came later.”

“How come they didn’t just shred you to pieces?”

“They tried,” the ginger tom muttered, hunching his shoulders a bit. “After the youngest one pounced on me, the other three came to tell me to leave their territory. I didn’t want to fight, but when I asked them why I had to leave, one of the bigger, older cats got angry and tried to attack me.”

“What did you do?” Smudge breathed, hushed and tense, as if he was there, reliving the story for himself.

“I ran. They chased me all the way through the forest out onto the moorlands on the other side of the woods,” the ginger cat mewed. He felt excitement prickle down his spine as the recalled the next part of the story. “But then… there was another group of cats. They came down the slopes and fought off the cats chasing me. They even treated my scratches for me! And then…”

“What?”

“The moor cats asked me to join their Clan,” Rusty revealed.

Smudge gazed at him, whiskers quivering disbelievingly.

“It’s true!” the green-eyed tom insisted, though any annoyance he may have felt at his friend’s incredulity was overshadowed by the lingering awe that the offer had inspired in him.

“Why would they do that?” the other tom questioned.

Rusty shifted his paws on the fence. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “The cat who healed me said that the Clan wasn’t very big. Maybe they need an extra pair of paws to help out.”

“It sounds a bit odd to me,” Smudge doubted, “How do you know this isn’t some trap? How do you know they won’t hurt you?”

Rusty shook his head. “The moor cats saved me from those cats that were chasing after me,” he reminded his friend.

“ _Still_ ,” the black-and-white cat persisted. He shook his head, clearly unconvinced, “I wouldn’t trust them if I were you.”

The ginger tom looked at his companion. Smudge’s fur was smooth and unruffled by activity, and his collar sat comfortably around his neck. The other tom had never shown even the slightest amount of interest in venturing into the woods, or even hunting anything in his own yard. He was perfectly content to live with his housefolk. He would likely never understand the restless, unsettled feelings that kept Rusty awake at night, the feelings that prodded his curiosity and fueled his dreams, inciting visions of life in the wild.

“But I _do_ trust them,” Rusty purred softly. “And…” He took a deep breath. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to join them.”

Smudge jolted, scrambling into a standing position on the fence, causing it to sway beneath their paws. “No! Rusty, please don’t go,” he mewed in alarm, worry clear in his voice. “I might never see you again!”

Rusty stood as well, nudging his head against Smudge’s own affectionately. “My housefolk will get another cat,” the ginger tom assured, attempting to placate his friend. “You’ll get along with them just fine.”

“But it won’t be the same!” Smudge wailed, distraught.

“How do we know _we’ll_ be the same?” the green-eyed cat asked gently. He swished his tail up to bat it against his companion’s black-and-white side. “Things change, Smudge. Look at Henry – his housefolk took him to the cutter, and now he’s changed. How do we know something like that wouldn’t happen to us?”

Smudge shrugged and stared down at his paws, shuffling them. “Henry’s alright,” he protested, though his voice was beginning to grow smaller. “I mean, I know he’s changed, I know he’s lazier now, but he’s not unhappy. We could still have fun.”

Rusty sighed. “I’m sorry, Smudge. I’ll miss you,” he said, sorrow creeping into his mew as he looked at the other tom. “But if I don’t do this, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering. I _have_ to go.”

Smudge stared at his paws a few moments longer before he stepped forward. He didn’t reply, but he touched his nose to Rusty’s own. “I can see I won’t change your mind,” the black-and-white tom murmured, remorsefully. “But let’s at least spend one more morning together.”

Rusty wandered through his old haunts with Smudge. He spoke with cats he had grown up with, sharing fresh news and old memories alike. Nostalgia flooded through him every pawstep of the journey, twisting inside his chest. Yet, even as he bid farewell to his old life, he could not ignore the light, buzzing feeling surging beneath his pelt; he felt hyperaware of his surroundings, senses piqued and alert, the sort of anticipation that comes before a leap filling up his entire being. Neither the words of his old friends, nor the pained, sentimental mood the goodbyes imparted on him, could prevent his heart from pulling him towards the woods, to the trail that would lead him back to the rolling, open moors.

He did not share any more parting words with Smudge when he returned to his own garden. The two rested together on the fence, looking out into the woods, until Smudge turned and pressed his side against Rusty’s. The ginger tom pressed back against the other. They sat in silence, making peace with their parting quietly. Eventually, they pulled away from one another. Their eyes locked. A beat – then Smudge nodded, slightly. Rusty understood. He offered his companion a sad smile before finally jumping down from his garden fence for the last time.

As he padded into the forest, glancing to and fro and tasting the air in hopes of avoiding another patrol like the one that had attacked him the first time he had come here, his mind gradually cleared, leaving him feeling strangely excited. Despite the heaviness of his heart at leaving all he had known, the way his thoughts turned to the future – to _the wild_ – left him feeling lighter than ever before.

* * *

Rusty breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the edge of the forest. He had been on edge the whole time he was trekking through the undergrowth of the woods, worried that his trespassing would get him in trouble, but he had met no other cats. Stepping out onto the moors now, he felt his anxiety fade away, and any lingering doubt over his decision evaporated when the sun touched his fur, no longer shadowed by trees. Eagerness lightened his steps as he began to climb the grassy slope from the edge of the forest onto the moorland.

As he crested the hill, Rusty saw two figures waiting for him. He recognized one as the light brown she-cat who had been on the patrol that had found him the previous day – Doespring, he recalled. However, the other cat was unfamiliar to him. When Rusty drew closer, and the pair spotted him and stood to greet him, the ginger tom noted that the stranger had a black-and-white pelt, and his tail seemed to be unusually long. Rusty’s heart thumped nervously, mind briefly flashing back to Smudge’s warnings about the meeting being a trap, but he pushed the feelings aside. Doespring had been kind to him the last time he had seen her. He could only hope that the newcomer would also be welcoming.

“Hello again, kittypet,” Doespring greeted him, waving her tail. He dipped his head to her in response.

When he looked up again, his eyes fell to the unknown cat. He jolted, startled, when he realized the stranger was staring at him. The other tom looked stricken; his entire body was motionless, not even his whiskers or tail-tip moving, and his amber eyes were wide and fixed on Rusty. The emotion on his face was not one that Rusty could easily describe. He looked almost haunted. It vaguely reminded the ginger tom of the strange way that Barkface had looked at him when he had first been brought to the brown cat’s den to be healed – intense, yet somehow distant, as if he wasn’t really looking at Rusty, as if –

The tom shook his head as if to clear it, and when he looked at Rusty again, his posture had relaxed and his face was neutral, all traces of his odd reaction gone. “You must be Rusty,” he greeted, padding forward. Rusty resisted the urge to step back, still unsettled by the other tom’s initial response to him. “Barkface told me about you,” the stranger continued. “My name is Tallstar.”

“I-It’s nice to meet you,” he stammered. _Tallstar_. Barkface had said he was WindClan’s _leader_. Rusty immediately scrambled to bow his head to the older cat, desperately hoping to convey his respect.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Rusty,” Tallstar replied pleasantly, though Rusty could easily detect the amusement in his voice, even without seeing the laughter in his eyes when the ginger tom raised his head.

“Have you made your decision, Tallstar?” Doespring inquired politely from Rusty’s other side.

The black-and-white tom glanced at the brown she-cat for a moment before looking at Rusty again, this time thoughtfully. After a moment, he nodded. “Come, young one,” he invited, beginning to lead his companions up another hill, deeper into the moors. “It is time for you to meet WindClan properly.”


	7. Chapter 5

Rusty was panting hard by the time he reached the familiar gorse thicket that surrounded the WindClan camp; Tallstar and Doespring had increased their speeds soon after they started walking until they were racing across the grass covering WindClan territory. Rusty had scrambled to follow. He had not been able to keep pace with the older cats, only stumbling along a few tail-lengths behind them, struggling for breath as he worked his still-sore body harder than it was used to working. Only when the gorse bushes growing in the depression of land where the camp was located came into view did the WindClan cats slow down again, allowing the ginger tom trailing behind them to stagger to a stop, as well.

Tallstar ducked his head beneath the thorny bushes and disappeared from sight, making his way into the tunnel passage beneath the scrubs. Doespring followed the black-and-white tom. Rusty brought up the rear once more, padding at a slower pace into the shady space beneath the thorns. The path was cool beneath his aching paws, and when he parted his jaws, Rusty could smell the thick scent of many cats, and when he pricked his ears, he could hear the indistinct chatter of many voices, as he had the previous day, when the patrol that had rescued him brought him to the Clan’s camp to be healed. Excitement coursed through the ginger tom’s frame, though mingled with nervousness, as his mind filled up with questions. What would living here be like? What would training entail? What if he failed and never became a warrior? Would he have to run as he just had every day?

Ahead of him, Tallstar exited the tunnel first. Rusty heard a few cats out of his sight call greetings to their Clan leader. Doespring followed him, mewing her own greetings to a few cats. Entering the clearing himself, Rusty noted that Doespring went a different direction than Tallstar did, as if some unspoken agreement had passed between the two of them; Doespring padded off to join the gray tabby she-cat that Rusty recognized from yesterday’s patrol (though her name did not come to mind as Doespring’s had), while Tallstar went directly towards the tall, jutting stone towards the center of the clearing that the ginger tom had taken note of the first time he was here. After a moment of shifting on his paws uncertainly, Rusty went after Tallstar, heading for the large rock – and, Rusty realized, the waiting figures of Deadfoot and Barkface – as well.

“He came,” the black cat mewed.

“Deadfoot wasn’t convinced that he would show up,” Barkface purred, yellow eyes glittering with amusement as the other tom flicked an ear at him. The brown medicine cat peered at Tallstar, expression sobering, and prompted, “Well?”

Tallstar’s long tail swayed back and forth behind him, and he dipped his head to his companion. “He kept up well on the journey back to camp, even when Doespring and I picked up our pace,” he admitted.

Rusty got the impression that Barkface was not entirely satisfied with this answer, but before the short-tailed tom could speak again, Deadfoot broke in. “So it is decided, then?” he checked. 

“Yes,” Tallstar confirmed. The other two toms rose and stepped out of his way as the leader padded forward, stating, “I will announce his arrival to the Clan.”

The black-and-white tomcat leapt up onto the tall stone rising from the ground. Planting his paws firmly, he yowled, “Let all cats old enough to catch prey gather beneath the Tallrock for a Clan meeting!”

Any cat whose attention hadn’t already been drawn by the WindClan leader’s return – or by the sight of a strange cat entering their camp – turned to look up at the black-and-white tom as he perched on the dark stone at the center of the hollow, his clear mew cutting through the low hum of chatter around the clearing. Cats rose from where they had been sitting or laying with their Clanmates, talking, eating, or any number of other things. Deadfoot moved to the base of the Tallrock, sitting so that he could both look up at Tallstar and out into the gathering crowd easily. Rusty shifted, wondering if he was supposed to move somewhere as well, but stayed where he was when neither Barkface nor Doespring moved from their places. Some of the other cats cast him curious or wary glances, but all of them settled and lifted their faces to Tallstar expectantly.

When everyone had stilled, Tallstar spoke. “WindClan,” he addressed the assembly, “As you all know, our Clan is in need of more warriors. We have not had so few apprentices in many moons, and many of our kits need time to grow and mature before they can begin their training. Thus, it has been decided that WindClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior.”

Shocked muttering broke out amongst the gathered cats, but they fell silent at a lash of Tallstar’s long tail. “Barkface and I have found a young cat who is willing to learn our ways and train as a warrior of WindClan,” he declared, his amber eyes finding Rusty amongst the crowd. “Barkface and I have discussed this matter at length, and both Deadfoot and Doespring have met this young cat as well. We all agree that he should be trained alongside our other apprentices.”

This time, the Clan’s muttering was more indignant. Most did not appear pleased at the Clan leader’s announcement. Rusty was suddenly aware of many gazes focused on him, and his pelt prickled with discomfort, feeling trapped beneath the hostile stares. Yesterday, he had been accepted into the Clan’s camp with minimal fuss, so Barkface could treat his wounds, but now that he had made the choice to stay, it seemed that everyone was ready to leap at him and send him running, fleeing for his life as the patrol of ThunderClan cats he’d encountered had.

“Where did he come from?”

“How do we know we can trust him?”

“What if he’s a _spy_?”

“What is that strange scent he carries?”

“He doesn’t smell like a Clan cat!”

One angry caterwaul rose above the rest. “He’s a _kittypet!_ ” a cat roared. Rusty looked for the source of the voice, and found himself staring into the burning yellow eyes of a gray tabby tom. “Look at his collar!”

The protests of the other cats rose in volume again at the assertion, some voices even descending into angry hisses. “WindClan needs wild-born warriors to defend its borders!” the tom’s voice continued over his Clanmates’. “Not some soft little Twoleg toy eating our prey and stealing our nests!”

“Once a kittypet, always a kittypet!” another mocked from beside the gray tabby. Rusty recognized the mottled brown coat of Mudclaw, the tom who had spat at him when he’d arrived in camp with Deadfoot’s patrol on the previous day.

“Your collar is a mark of the Twolegs,” the tabby continued to jeer at him, “Rabbits will hear you coming from the other side of the moor! Your pitiful tinkling will reach the Twolegs in the forest, and bring them right into our territory!”

“The noise of that treacherous bell will lead our enemies right to us – and a weak _kittypet_ will be no help protecting our Clan!” Mudclaw sneered along with the other tom.

The howls of agreement from the other gathered cats nearly drowned out the sound, but Rusty managed to pick up the low, rumbling growl that Tallstar let out from above. The black-and-white tomcat looked furious, amber eyes blazing and teeth bore in a snarl. However, Rusty was distracted when he heard Doespring hiss into his ear, “Tornear is challenging you. You must prove that you are capable of defending yourself, if others are to trust that you can defend the Clan.”

Rusty remained motionless. However, this was not the frozen, helpless sort of immobility that had seized him when the Clan first put him under their scrutiny – now, he was sizing up his opponent. Mudclaw was positioned slightly in front of the other tabby, making it impossible to spring onto Tornear from Rusty’s current position. He would have to get around the mottled tom. If he could just move fast enough…

Rusty flattened his ears, narrowed his eyes, and launched himself towards his tormentor. The surrounding cats scattered, startled by his sudden movements. Rusty collided with Mudclaw first, the impact knocking the mottled brown tom off balance and sending him stumbling for a few moments. The ginger tom did not pause, flinging himself onto Tornear as soon as his paws touched the earth again.

The striped tomcat was completely unprepared for Rusty’s attack, and thus, despite being larger than the younger cat, staggered as he crashed into him, losing his footing on the sands. With his opponent unbalanced, Rusty dug his claws into his adversary’s fur and heaved his weight forward, sending them both crashing to the ground. Spitting with fury at the taunts he’d endured and filled with a determination to prove himself, he clawed desperately at his foe. Dust and grit covered both their pelts as the pair writhed and screeched, somersaulting through clearing and sending other cats leaping back to avoid being caught in the wild brawl. Their screaming battle cries filled the hollow.

Striking the older cat’s muzzle with a squall as the tabby bit at his shoulder, Rusty suddenly became aware that he was not afraid. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, filling him with strength and ferocity, and though the blood was pounding in his ears, the ginger-coated cat could still hear the excited cries of other cats all around him, spurring him on. There was no fear in his heart – only exhilaration.

Then suddenly, Rusty yelped in alarm, the sound dying before it fully left his throat as his collar tightened around his neck. He twisted, beginning to panic as the pressure against his neck cut off his breath, and caught a glimpse of mottled brown fur. _Mudclaw!_ he realized. The other tom was dragging him up and off of Tornear by his collar, strangling Rusty in the process. The ginger tom thrashed and flailed, barely hearing how the shouts around him rose to thunderous levels over his own retching and gulping, and the frantic throb of his heart beating inside his skull. He felt the ground shaking where his paws struck the ground, and, summoning every bit of strength he possessed, made one last attempt to lunge forward out of Mudclaw’s grip.

A loud snap filled the air, and Rusty found air abruptly flowing back into his lungs in great, shuddering gasps. He fell into a crouch, legs quaking as he tried to hold himself steady, glancing between the two older toms and preparing for an attack even as he coughed and sputtered, trying to regain his breath. Tornear was already on his paws again, banded tail lashing through the air, while Mudclaw scrabbling back onto his own paws, Rusty’s mangled and broken collar dangling from between his teeth.

Before anyone could take further action, Tallstar swiftly moved between Rusty and the other WindClan toms, his monochrome coat bristling along his spine and making him look nearly twice his size. The Clan leader silenced the onlookers with a piercing screech. The three fighters stayed where they were. Rusty felt shaky-limbed and unsteady, still trying to breathe normally. Clumps of fur littered the clearing where it had been ripped from his and Tornear’s pelts. Rusty could feel several scratches stinging along his flanks, and he suspected some of his cuts from the previous day had reopened under the strain of the battle. Tornear had a wound above one of his eyes, the mark oozing blood down his face and the side of his neck. Mudclaw’s fur was ruffled and sandy, but he was otherwise undamaged. Rusty continued the look between them as they went on glaring at him, tensions still high between them.

“The newcomer has fought well – despite the dishonorable tactics used against him,” Tallstar proclaimed, directing a stern frown at both Mudclaw and Tornear. Neither of the tabbies apologized for their actions, but they both flattened their ears at the reprimand. The leader continued to glower for a moment before stepping forward to take the tattered remains of Rusty’s collar from Mudclaw. He placed the article on the ground, and, addressing the rest of the Clan, carried on, “By losing his collar in battle, this cat has been freed from the hold of his Twolegs, and may join WindClan assured that he is a worthy apprentice.” Tallstar directed the last part of his speech at Rusty, as he turned to set his amber gaze on the ginger tom, something bright but unreadable in his amber eyes.

Rusty straightened, feeling steadier as he nodded at the older tom somberly, both in a gesture of both acceptance and gratitude to the Clan leader for breaking up the fight before he could be ganged up on by two bigger, stronger cats. Raising his head proudly, Rusty welcomed the warm rays of the midday sun on his body, its glow turning his pelt to flame. The howling chorus of protests that had initially greeted him was now silent, and as Tallstar retrieved the collar once more and approached him, Rusty found that the cats surrounding him had no intention of arguing with the proceedings. He had proven his worth.

Tallstar placed the shredded collar on the ground in front of Rusty, then stepped forward to touch his nose to the tip of his ear. “Well done,” he congratulated the younger cat. Rusty felt a swell of pride at the Clan leader’s words. When he pulled away, the tom’s amber eyes were bright, but flickered strangely as he looked over Rusty for a few moments, before turning to face the Clan with a decisive flick of his tail. “Today, WindClan welcomes a new apprentice: until he has received his warrior name, he shall be known as Firepaw.”

Tallstar paused.

“Doespring,” he called. Rusty turned to see the brown she-cat stride forward at her leader’s call. She padded towards the pair of them, coming to stand in front of the ginger tom. WindClan’s leader pronounced, “You shall be Firepaw’s mentor.”

The green-eyed she-cat stepped forward. Unsure of what to do, Rusty blinked up at her, relaxing when she merely touched her muzzle to the top of his head before stepping back once more. “Welcome, Firepaw,” she murmured alongside Tallstar’s strong mew. A hushed whisper swept through the Clan as they awaited his next move.

Filled with resolve, the bright tom turned and kicked sand over the ripped remnants of his collar in a decisive motion.

Tornear limped away towards where Rusty remembered Barkface’s den was, his head tilted awkwardly to keep the blood seeping out of the scratch that Rusty had inflicted out of his eyes. Mudclaw followed him, muttering into the other tabby’s ear as they went. The remaining cats broke apart into smaller groups, all chattering to each other excitedly, some casting glances back at Rusty as they went. Rusty saw Tallstar looking at him as well, seeming deep in thought even as his gaze shifted endlessly between the young tom’s ginger pelt and the sandy earth beneath their paws, before the black-and-white cat rose and trotted after Barkface, who had not yet begun to make his way towards his own den, instead lingering in the shade of Tallrock. Doespring remained where she was in front of Rusty, her whiskers twitching as she was though about to speak.

“Hey!”

The call drew his attention, and he spun around to see a familiar brown tabby hurrying towards him. “Onepaw,” he greeted the other tom, the high of his adrenaline rush making him feel giddy.

The WindClan apprentice greeted the slightly younger cat with a grin, his eyes bright. “That was a great fight,” he complimented, “Especially against two fully grown warriors! Tornear could have _shredded_ me if I tried to fight him, let alone if I had to face Mudclaw, too. You definitely earned your apprenticeship!”

“Yes, he did quite well,” Doespring interjected, her tail-tip twitching.

Onepaw immediately dipped his head to her, looking sheepish. “Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting, Doespring,” he meowed contritely, shuffling his paws slightly, “You probably want to start training him.”

The light she-cat flicked an ear in acknowledgement. “That would probably be best, yes,” she hummed, looking as though she was trying not to laugh at the other apprentice’s shyness. “Firepaw has much to learn if he wishes to become a warrior.”

_Firepaw._ The ginger tom couldn’t help but be delighted at the use of his new name. All around the sandy hollow, he could hear it, shared between cats in animated whispers. He was _Firepaw_ , now.

Firepaw tried to take a step forward, wanting to begin the training Doespring mentioned as soon as possible, but had to stop when he found himself swaying slightly on his paws. Onepaw and Doespring stared at him for a moment, before both of them broke into amused purrs.

“Perhaps training should wait,” Doespring amended. “He fought well against Tornear and Mudclaw, and his journey to WindClan was a long one. Onepaw, why don’t you take him to see Barkface, then show him around camp?”

“Yes, Doespring,” Onepaw replied dutifully. He turned to Firepaw. “Come on, we’ll get those scratches looked at, and I’ll give you a tour – then I can help you make a nest for yourself in the apprentices’ den.”

As Firepaw began to trot after Onepaw, even with his muscles aching and pelt stinging from the fight, he could not suppress the thrill that went through him. _I’m an apprentice of WindClan!_ he thought. He smiled widely. His life as a kittypet was over.


	8. Chapter 6

Firepaw was jolted awake by a paw jabbing sharply into his side. Blinking blearily, he found a pair of green eyes glaring down at him.

“Get up,” hissed the tabby she-cat standing over him. “It’s bad enough I had to smell your kittypet stench all night, now you’re going to sit around all day and get under everyone’s paws?”

“What,” the ginger tom muttered, staggering to his paws.

The light gray she-cat lashed her tail with a snort. “I thought maybe if you were stupid enough to think you could be a Clan cat, you might at least try to make yourself useful.” She glowered at him down her muzzle. “But I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything better from a _kittypet_.”

With a dismissive sniff, the she-cat tramped away. Firepaw blinked after her, disoriented. Looking around, he saw the pelts of many different cats scattered around the sandy clearing. It only took him a moment to remember where he was.

_WindClan_. Excitement and joy surged up in his chest. While not everyone seemed overjoyed at his arrival – Mudclaw and Tornear, and the unfamiliar she-cat that had woken him, for example – he had been accepted into the Clan. He was not a housecat any longer. _WindClan_ was his home now.

“Firepaw!”

Turning, Firepaw caught sight of the familiar striped coat of Onepaw, sitting by the fresh-kill pile across camp. Stumbling slightly, the ginger tom made his way over to his friend, still shaking off sleep. “Good morning,” he greeted.

“Good morning,” Onepaw returned with a smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright, I think.” 

Sleeping in WindClan had been a strange experience. Onepaw had shown Firepaw around the camp after his naming ceremony the previous day. Firepaw knew the medicine cat den already, having been in it even before Barkface patched him up after his fight with Tornear and Mudclaw. Two of the other dens had been similarly situated in open pockets in the gorse bushes surrounding the clearing that made up the majority of the camp: the elders’ den and the nursery were protected by the thick, thorny stems of the plants. However, the rest of the so-called “dens” were very different. The leader’s den beneath Tallrock was perhaps the only one that shared any similarities with the ones situated in the gorse, at least in the sense that there was a roof overhead and a nest to sleep in. Onepaw had pointed out several holes in the ground when Firepaw had asked where every other cat slept.

“The warriors and apprentices sleep in abandoned rabbit burrows or badger sets when it gets rainy or cold,” he had explained. “But most cats sleep out in the clearing whenever they can.”  
Firepaw had been a little apprehensive about simply sleeping on the ground out in the open, but had eventually lied down beside Onepaw when the tour had concluded and the sun was disappearing below the horizon. Though the sandy earth was nothing like the soft, cushy bed he’d slept in in his housefolk’s nest, he found that it hadn’t been quite as uncomfortable as he had feared it would be; the sand was a bit scratchy and rough (Onepaw assured him that he would get used to it), but the Greenleaf weather had kept him warm despite the night air, and even the cool breeze that blew through the camp had not been unpleasant, instead bringing some relief when the heat grew stifling. The quiet sounds of wind on the moor had eventually lulled the ginger tom to sleep – though he was sure he had tossed and turned in the night, with so many bits of gravel digging into his pelt.

Reminded of the likely disastrous state of his fur, Firepaw sat down and began to groom himself.

“Good,” Onepaw mewed, watching in amusement as the younger cat attempted to remove the grit from his fiery coat. A moment later, his amusement faded to a contrite expression, and he flicked his ears as if in embarrassment. “I’m sorry about Runningpaw,” he added. “She’s usually really nice, but…”

“Was that the she-cat who woke me up?” Firepaw clarified. He turned to look over his shoulder, trying to see if he could spot the light gray of the she-cat’s coat somewhere in camp.

Onepaw nodded in confirmation. “She’s Tornear’s apprentice,” he finished, apologetically, “So… I don’t think she has the best opinion of you, at the moment.”

“It’s okay,” Firepaw reassured. He had been accepted into the Clan’s ranks, but not every cat welcomed him – as yesterday’s fight had proven. The green-eyed tom was sure that their battle hadn’t made Tornear any fonder of him. Anyone else who wasn’t enthusiastic about his presence in the Clan probably wouldn’t be pleased with him, either.

“Today is your first day of training,” the brown apprentice changed the subject, “Doespring told me it was okay to let you sleep in a little, since coming to our territory all the way from Twolegplace was probably pretty tiring, but you should try to be up by sunrise from now on if you don’t want to miss anything.”

Firepaw nodded his assent. “Where is she?” he inquired, glancing around camp for his mentor.

“She went to the Training Hollow.” Onepaw bobbed his head, scuffing one paw against the dusty earth, “She said to bring you there once you woke up.”

“Do you know what I’ll be doing?” Firepaw asked. He stood when Onepaw did, prepared to follow the other apprentice out of camp.

The tabby tom shook his head. “Since you’re new to Clan life, she might give you a lesson on Clan customs, but she just as easily might bypass that and let you figure it out on your own in favor of starting your hunting or battle training,” Onepaw explained. He ducked his head to push his way under the gorse bushes surrounding the camp. He continued to speak to Firepaw over his shoulder as the pair of apprentices made their way through the tunnel under the thorns. “I probably won’t be training with you today, if at all,” he went on, “Deadfoot told me I should be getting my warrior name soon, so I’ll probably be out of camp doing assessments most days. If I pass, I’ll have my warrior ceremony, and I won’t be training with the apprentices anymore.”

His amber eyes glinted apologetically in the low light filtering through the prickly leaves overhead. “If you train with another apprentice anytime soon, it will probably be Runningpaw.”  
Firepaw tried not to wince at the thought.

“Sorrelfeather’s kits will be apprentices soon,” the other tom soothed, apparently catching on to Firepaw’s discomfort despite the ginger cat’s attempt to hide it. “They’ll train with you, too, once they have their ceremonies. And besides, you won’t be training with the other apprentices _all_ the time - in fact, you’ll be training with just Doespring like this plenty of the time. It shouldn’t be too bad,” Onepaw went on as he stepped out of the gorse tunnel and onto the windswept moors. He turned to Firepaw as the ginger cat stepped out beside him and gave the slightly younger tom a reassuring smile. “And besides, just because I’ll be getting my warrior name doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

Firepaw smiled back at him, gratitude swelling up inside of him. Onepaw was one of the only cats in the Clan he was really familiar with yet, and the only cat close to his own age that had been friendly towards him thus far. To be left friendless and adrift so soon in his new life as a cat of WindClan would certainly be disheartening.

“Come on,” Onepaw encouraged.

The ginger tom followed his companion as the tabby began to make his way down a slope, weaving amongst the smooth grasses and stubby heather bushes lining the landscape. The trail they followed wound across the moors, zigzagging across the dips and rises of the territory. Onepaw clearly knew where he was going, following the path easily, his steps quickening to a light jog seemingly without his notice the further they traveled from the Clan camp. Firepaw hurried after him, trying to take in his surroundings while making sure not to lose his guide at the same time. The green-eyed apprentice wondered if he would ever know the moors the way Onepaw seemed to; the striped tom was sure-pawed, making turns with ease and seeming to know how to navigate every part of the track, down to the tiniest speck of gravel or piece of foliage growing into the path. Briefly gazing out over the rolling hills of WindClan territory as he scurried after Onepaw, it seemed impossible.

Firepaw nearly toppled over when he bumped into Onepaw, who had stopped in front of him.

Offering a sheepish grin, Onepaw announced, “We’re here.”

They had reached a wide clearing. The space was covered in verdant grasses, but none of the heather bushes or other prickly shrubs that dotted the moors encroached upon the area. On the far side, several dark boulders were clustered around the edge of the hollow, sheltering it. Firepaw spotted Doespring rising from her position on top of one of the rocks, and waved his tail in greeting as she leapt down and padded over to them.

“Good morning,” the she-cat met the two apprentices. She nodded to Onepaw, “Thank you for bringing Firepaw to me. Did the two of you eat before you left camp?”

The faint rumble of Firepaw’s stomach and the guilty look on Onepaw’s face were answer enough.

“That’s alright,” Doespring assured. “We can eat on our way. You’d better return to camp, Onepaw. I believe Deadfoot has plans for you today.”

Onepaw dipped his head, ears still slightly flattened with embarrassment. “Yes, Doespring,” he obeyed, turning to retrace his way along the trail. “Bye, Firepaw,” he called over his shoulder, then disappeared into the motley of grass and heather with a flick of his tabby tail.

Returning her attention to her own apprentice, Doespring twitched her whiskers. “I’d like you to run a lap around the clearing to warm up before we get going,” she told him. “I’d like to assess your skills to see what we’ll need to work on in the future. And I think it will be better for you to have your muscles stretched and awake before we start today.”  
Firepaw bobbed his head in acceptance. Quickly scanning the clearing for any obstacles that might pose a challenge, the ginger apprentice bunched his muscles and took off across the grass. His paws slipped slightly on the greenery on his first few bounds, but he quickly righted himself and managed to keep running, keeping his balance after the brief struggle against the dew-slicked ground. The faint ache of his muscles from the previous days’ excursions faded from his limbs quickly as he dashed through the clearing, adrenaline and the exhilaration of moving freely and testing his body’s limits making it easy to forget the minor discomfort.

Halfway through his circuit, Firepaw glanced up at his mentor, finding Doespring watching him impassively, her tail slowly swishing back and forth across the earth and her expression remaining neutral. _I should be trying to impress her_ , he thought. _What should I be doing differently?_ The orange tom tried to think back to what he’d been doing when he followed Doespring and Tallstar back to the WindClan camp the previous day, or even what he’d been doing when he was fleeing for his life from that ThunderClan patrol. Firepaw stretched his body, trying to replicate the way he had been running on those instances; he lengthened his strides, reaching his paws wide and digging his claws into the ground slightly to propel himself forward. He felt the wind whip by his ears as he picked up speed.

Bounding across the last part of the clearing before finally slowing to a stop back in front of Doespring, panting slightly, Firepaw glanced up at the older cat for her assessment. Her green eyes were bright, and she offered him a smile. “That was very good for your first lap,” she praised, “You’re a fast learner. You’ll be flying over the moors in no time.”

The apprentice straightened proudly.

His mentor got to her paws, sweeping her tail in a beckoning motion as she began to pad back out of the clearing. “Come,” she summoned him, “We have much ground to cover today.” As the ginger tom fell into step beside her, she expounded, “I’ll be giving you a tour of WindClan’s territory today. You’ll need to learn the moors and the borders surrounding it well if you want to thrive here.”

Firepaw felt another jolt of excitement course through his body, lightening his steps as he followed Doespring back onto the moorlands.

* * *

Firepaw spotted their destination long before the pair arrived; a large gray stone stood on the edge of a hillside, standing out starkly against the windswept landscape. The rock was easy to see from a distance, even in some of the taller patches of grass and heather, so the ginger apprentice wasn’t exactly surprised when the trail Doespring had selected began to lead them up the incline towards the boulder. However, it was only when they reached the granite that Firepaw realized exactly how high up they were. Taking a few cautious steps out onto the stone, the newly made apprentice saw the world spill out in a vast spiral below him. From his vantage point atop the stone, Firepaw could see the wide expanse of the many hills that made up WindClan territory, dotted here and there with rocks and hardier plants than the ever-prevalent grasses that rolled across the heaths. The land dropped away at the edge of the huge stone, the earth yawning open in a long, steep valley. Firepaw quickly backpedalled away from the ledge when a strong breeze ruffled his fur, heart thudding harder in his chest and head clouding with dizziness at the prospect of falling from such a great height.

“This is Outlook Rock,” Doespring pronounced. “It overlooks most of our territory. It plays an important role in the training of our warriors.”

At what he felt was a safer distance, Firepaw looked out over the plain again. On one side, off in the distance, mountains jutted up into the sky, their dark peaks gleaming faintly in the morning light. At the end of the valley, the moors were broken up by a sparse tree line, the darker green of their leaves and the umber of their bark contrasting against the softer jade hues of the sweeping prairies of the rest of the territory. Past the few stubby trees, a black line cut across the earth, beyond which Firepaw could just barely make out darker land, the details indistinct from such a distance. Finally, on the far side, the scant assortment of trees springing up in several places along the edge of the grassland thickened, shrubs and saplings growing taller and stronger the further east Firepaw’s eyes tracked, before abruptly dropping off by the border of something indistinct, blue, and glimmering that the young cat thought might be water.

“…How do you train up here?” he asked finally, still feeling a bit shaky and off-kilter from looking down from such an incredible height.

“WindClan is different from the other Clans,” his teacher disclosed. She pointed her nose across the open moors, indicating the lands beyond the windswept lea as she spoke. “The other Clans have territories riddled with plants and other things with which to take cover. In WindClan, we have little of that, if any: no way to hide ourselves from enemies, or things to keep prey from noticing our approach.” The brown she-cat turned to meet her apprentice’s green gaze with her own. “Because of this, it is essential that our cats train their observation skills, so that they can stay one step ahead of their adversaries, even without the assistance of their surroundings.”

Firepaw gawked out at the moors again. The lush hillocks laid out in front of him seemed to take on a new significance in light of the lesson. _WindClan cats have to work hard to provide for and protect their Clan_ , he marveled. It was little wonder Deadfoot, Ryestalk, Doespring, and Onepaw had come to his aid so quickly when ThunderClan had chased him onto their land. _They probably knew I was coming before I’d made it more than a few paces onto the moors._

“Not quite,” Doespring chuckled. Firepaw started when he realized he had been speaking his thoughts aloud. “We got to you so quickly because Ryestalk and I were helping Deadfoot with one of Onepaw’s assessments, at the time.” The light brown she-cat rose to her paws, adding, “Speaking of which, we should head off. We have a lot more to see today, and Deadfoot and Onepaw will probably already be on their way here by now.”

Firepaw stood and went along with her, inquiring curiously, “Is that part of his warrior assessment? What will he have to do?”

The reddish tom saw a smile curl at his tutor’s muzzle. “We may be able to see them from other parts of the territory as we explore,” she deflected, “If we can see what they’re doing from where we are, I can tell you then.” The older cat glanced his way and shot him a sly grin. “And if not, I’m sure our newest warrior will be more than happy to explain it to you,” she finished impishly.

* * *

A dull roar grew louder and louder in Firepaw’s ears as he and Doespring descended the winding trails leading down the hills slanting down the eastern side of WindClan’s territory. Halfway down from Outlook Rock, Doespring had sped up, moving at a brisk trot and prompting Firepaw to do the same, but as the knolls of the land began to flatten again, the light brown she-cat slackened her pace again. The pair picked their way through the windblown grass, avoiding clumps of heather, sharp pebbles, and the tracks of smaller animals. The many scents that the ginger tom was quickly coming to recognize as characteristic of the moor began to be overshadowed by the clear tang of water. By the time Doespring slowed to a stop, holding up her tail and signaling Firepaw to halt as well, it was almost the only thing he _could_ smell, and the roaring sound was much louder than the faint echo he had heard further up the heaths.

“This is the gorge,” the older warrior revealed. Before them, the land fell away abruptly, a thin stretch of stone the only division between solid ground and a cavernous ravine. At the bottom of the rift, the dark blue of a formidable river rushed by, churning violently against the sheer rock walls and the sharp claw-scratch boulders that peered out from beneath the rapids; the waters sent a shimmering veil of mist up into the air, glimmering with specks of multicolored light under the warming rays of the sun. Doespring flicked at Firepaw’s flank with the tip of her tail comfortingly when he shivered at the sight, though she cautioned him sternly, “Be very careful if you’re ever hunting around this part of the territory. Slipping off of the cliffs would end your warrior training _very_ quickly.”

Doespring led the way along the cliffside, moving to stand between Firepaw and the gorge and blocking out the rather unnerving view of the immediate drop into the turbulent waterway below. Her brown pelt fluffed out slightly against the dampness in the air as she resumed, “The gorge marks the border between WindClan and RiverClan territory. Because of the river, there aren’t many places where our borders actually meet.” She pointed her muzzle ahead, she meowed, “The only place our lands overlap is beyond the falls.” 

Firepaw looked. Ahead, the gleaming cerulean of the turbulent watercourse rapidly fell away between the precipitous banks of the cliffs on either side. As they approached the area, the noisy rumble of the water rose to a thunderous crash. Mist was thick in the air, droplets of moisture flung into the air in every direction by the cascade of water pouring out from the zenith of the crags surrounding the river, tumbling down a steep drop and hurtling into the dark, wet boulders and roiling whitewater below. The young tom tracked the path of the river past the waterfall, green gaze watching the water trail away, continuing on out of sight.

“Do you see that Twoleg bridge?” Doespring hummed into her apprentice’s ear. He picked out the structure she indicated; he noted that the brown wood looked worn as they came up to it, flecked with moss and grit flung up by the river. As they approached the strip of land, Firepaw noticed the strong smell of cats. The brown she-cat beside him stopped, indicating the scent marker. “This is the border,” she notified him. “Can you smell RiverClan on the other side?”

Firepaw lifted his nose and sniffed the air. A thick, pungent scent filled his senses. He wasn’t sure if he was simply smelling the falls so close by or if the scent of RiverClan truly reflected its namesake; beneath the smell of water, there was a stronger, headier scent, something that reminded the ginger tom of the tuna that he used to share with Smudge whenever one of their housefolk had been kind enough to give them some. This close, he could easily tell the difference between the scent of RiverClan and that of his own Clan. He was surprised at how familiar and comforting he already seemed to find the scent of WindClan.

He nodded in reply to Doespring’s inquiry.

The light she-cat purred in approval. “Since we share so few borders with them, you can imagine that we don’t have too many conflicts with RiverClan. Still, remember this scent well – if you ever smell this scent on our side of the border, make sure to notify a warrior immediately.”

Once Firepaw uttered his assent, Doespring motioned him onward, outlining their path, “We’ll follow the boundary line from here. It will lead us past ThunderClan territory before we get to Fourtrees.”

“What’s Fourtrees?” the new apprentice queried.

“Fourtrees is where the territories of all the Clans meet,” the older cat responded. “It is neutral ground – cats of all Clans may go there in peace whenever they please.”

As they walked, Firepaw noticed the open grasslands of WindClan territory and the flat, marshy land that he could see beyond RiverClan’s borders give way to more dense undergrowth. He tensed slightly, recognizing the rich, earthy smell that lied across the borderline, and the thick clusters of trees that had sprung up; he remembered racing through those woods, fleeing for his life from the wicked claws of that pale tabby tom, Longtail, and the rest of the cats with him. It already felt like a lifetime ago that he had been found during his first venture outside of Twolegplace by that ThunderClan patrol, even though it had really only been a few days since then.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud grumbling sound. It took him a few moments to realize it was his stomach.

“Ah, yes. I forgot you haven’t eaten yet today.” His mentor huffed. “ _Onepaw_ ,” she twitched her whiskers, expression full of exasperated fondness. “The moment there’s a task to complete, he’s tripping over his paws trying to do it: completely forgets there’s other equally essential things that need doing.” She halted, signaling him to do the same. “Wait here,” she instructed. “I’ll catch us something.”

Before Firepaw could react, Doespring turned and bounded off, heading for the tree line. The green-eyed tom’s heart leapt for a moment: what if she moved onto ThunderClan territory and got attacked like he had? But the older warrior did not cross the scent marker – instead she slowed to a steady jog for a few seconds, ears swiveling back and forth on top of her head, nose uplifted and twitching in the breeze, before she suddenly dropped into a crouch, creeping forward again with narrowed eyes. After a few paces, she sprang forward, breaking into a run as a dark shape shot up out of the brush in a flurry of feathers. The bird barely had time to flap a handful of times, barely rising from the ground before Doespring’s sprint propelled her forward in a mighty leap. She slammed into the bird from the side and sent it crashing back to the earth, pinning it with her weight and momentum and snapping its neck with her teeth, instantly cutting off its struggles.

She returned to Firepaw with a black-and-white bird hanging from her jaws. “This is a lapwing. Eat as much as you’d like – but don’t feel bad about leaving some,” she flashed him a grin. “I haven’t had the chance to catch myself a lapwing since the breeding season started. They’re my favorite,” she added in a conspiring whisper.

Smiling at his guide, he meowed his thanks. He eagerly settled into a brief lesson on how to remove the feathers from a bird in order to get at the meat, before just as eagerly taking his first bite out of the lapwing. The taste was not as rich as that of the mouse he had eaten the previous evening (courtesy of Onepaw, who, at that time, had not forgotten to feed him after the culmination of his tour of WindClan’s camp), but it was meaty and warm, and filled Firepaw’s belly nicely. He left the remainder of the fresh-kill for Doespring, trying not to let too much of his amusement show as the older she-cat scarfed down the last morsels of their meal.

The pair set off again soon after they finished the fowl. Firepaw found that the rest of the journey to Fourtrees felt much shorter by comparison, as he was filled with food and renewed vigor, and the breeze that flowed down from the open moors of WindClan cooled his pelt under the rising greenleaf sun. Firepaw didn’t realize that he was keeping pace with Doespring effortlessly until they slowed down again, paws moving from unsheltered grass onto cool earth and soft mosses.

Passing over a bush-covered slope, the two WindClan cats entered a clearing bordered by four enormous oak trees. The dark canopies of the trees obscured the bright sunshine overhead, filtering the light through the leaves and casting mottled patterns across the ground. The clearing was quiet, the sounds of the surrounding world seeming muted between the trunks of the oaks. At the center of the clearing, a huge, dark stone rose up out of the ground; the stone seemed to be getting the most clearing out of all the places in the clearing, the leaves of the four great trees just barely overlapping above it, instead leaving a small window of the open sky overhead. The ground all across the clearing was worn and flat, smooth beneath Firepaw’s pads and void of too many obtrusive plants or sharp stones that could poke at a cat’s paws as they walked. The whispering rustle of the oaks’ leaves above his head almost sounded like the distant voices of many cats in Firepaw’s ears.

“As I told you, this is Fourtrees,” Doespring murmured into the stillness around them. “The territories of all the Clans converge here. You know that our territory lies on the high ground behind us, that RiverClan governs the marshy lands back the way we came, and that ThunderClan owns the forest ahead of us.” She pointed her muzzle past the trees and the boulder at the center of the clearing. “ShadowClan territory lies over there, in the darkest part of the forest. We’ll pass by their territory on the way back to camp, so you can get a better view.”

“So many Clans!” Firepaw exclaimed.

“You see now why ThunderClan was none too pleased with you for hunting on their territory,” the brown she-cat prodded lightly. Her tone held no reprimand, only calm benevolence. “Every Clan must fight to protect what little it has.”

Firepaw glanced between the snatches of each Clan’s territory he could see from the hollow. He understood why none of the Clans would take kindly to a housecat hunting for fun on their land, but… “Why can’t the Clans work together and share their hunting grounds, instead of fighting each other?” the young tom suggested boldly.

Doespring didn’t reply for several long moments, staring at him with an unreadable look in her green eyes. “You know,” she said at last, “You remind me of Tallstar.”

“Huh?”

“He had a similar attitude when he was a young warrior. In fact, he left WindClan for a time to become a rogue.” Sensing her apprentice’s confusion, Doespring went on, “He was gone for nearly a season – but eventually, he returned. He understands perhaps better than anyone what it means to be loyal to your Clan; he followed his heart, and it led him right back home.”

After a brief silence, Doespring concluded, “The four Clans do come together peacefully once each moon: here.” She lifted her head to indicate the four mighty oaks high above them. “We call them Gatherings. The Clans exchange news and enjoy a truce as long as the moon is at its fullest.”

“Then there must be a meeting very soon?” Firepaw pondered, remembering how bright the moonlight had been when he had fallen asleep under it in the clearing within WindClan’s camp.

“There is indeed,” answered the light brown warrior, sounding impressed. “The Gathering is tonight, in fact.” She sobered slightly, meowing solemnly, “Gatherings are important, for the peace that they provide, but you must understand that drawing out such an alliance is difficult, and doing so would bring more trouble than it’s worth. A warrior’s loyalty to their Clan is what makes them strong. Weakening that loyalty means weakening not just your chances of survival, but the chances of your Clanmates as well.”

Firepaw nodded. “I understand,” he agreed, though questions still lingered in the back of his mind as he followed Doespring back out of Fourtrees.


	9. Chapter 7

WindClan territory opened back up in front of them as Doespring and Firepaw padded out of the clearing bordered by the enormous oaks that made up Fourtrees. While the area was not as heavily forested as the path they had walked down alongside the ThunderClan border, there were still more trees than there seemed to be on the rest of the moors combined, stout trunks rising from the ground and lush green leaves spilling over their branches. Sunlight lanced through the leaves and spread its glow across the open grasslands of WindClan. The warm tang of fresh air soon turned sour, however, as the pair of WindClan cats began to draw closer to the tree line. Approaching the trees, Firepaw noticed a thick gray path cutting across the landscape – the thin dark line he had seen in the distance from Outlook Rock, he realized. He wrinkled his nose at the stench as Doespring pulled up a few tail-lengths away from it.

“This is the Thunderpath,” she informed him.

Almost as if to emphasize her words, a huge Twoleg monster roared past, tearing down the road at a startling speed. Firepaw jumped, bristling at the sight.

Doespring watched her apprentice with mingled sympathy and amusement. “As you can imagine, most warriors aren’t too eager to cross it,” she meowed. “The monsters never seem to leave the path, though, so you won’t see much of them unless you’re patrolling this border.”

Firepaw nodded, his eyes wide as he cast another sidelong glance at the Thunderpath. He was not entirely unfamiliar with such paths, but all the ones he had seen in Twolegplace were much smaller, and none of the monsters had moved quite so fast. When he said as much to Doespring, she nodded sagely.

“Well, now that you’re training to be a warrior, you’ll have to get used to them,” she told him seriously. “It’s a necessary trial all apprentices must undertake before they can become warriors to cross the Thunderpath and face down the monsters single-pawed.”

The ginger apprentice bristled slightly, looking over at the Thunderpath again in alarm.

She flicked his ear with the tip of her tail playfully. “I’m joking,” she purred, “Not even the most experienced warriors – in _any_ of the Clans – like to get too close to Thunderpaths unless they have to.” She flicked a glance across the path, remarking, “This one helps to keep ShadowClan off our territory.”

_ShadowClan_. Beyond the thick, sour scent of the Thunderpath, Firepaw could detect another cat-scent, darker and mustier than the scents of RiverClan, ThunderClan, or WindClan. The smell wafted over to the ginger tom on a light breeze that blew towards him through the dark pines on the other side of the Thunderpath. The scent clung to the roof of his mouth oddly, with an almost unpleasant stickiness. Firepaw made a face at the smell, and his green eyes tracked the subtle movements of the needled branches of the pine trees across the border.

“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t get too close,” Doespring reassured him, drawing Firepaw’s attention back to his mentor, and to the Thunderpath to which she referred. The ginger tom nodded dutifully. He had no intention of drawing nearer to the dark stone path than was absolutely necessary.

The brown she-cat glanced up towards the sky for a few moments before she crooked her tail over her flank, gesturing back towards the moors. “We should start heading back to camp,” she announced. “You’ve seen all of the Clans borders, now, and I expect your paws are a little tired by now.”

Firepaw couldn’t help but be relieved at the prospect of returning to camp. While the lapwing that Doespring had caught for them had filled his belly, hurrying after Onepaw on their way to the Training Hollow that morning and the long trek through WindClan’s moors with his mentor all afternoon had been tiring, not to mention that he was reeling a bit from the sudden influx of information that had been unloaded on him over the course of the day. He mewed his agreement to Doespring’s proposal and tried not to make his breath of relief too obvious as the pair padded back the way they had come, away from the Thunderpath and up onto WindClan’s sloping meadows once again.

Behind them, the peaks of countless dark pines pierced the burnt orange sky. The trees shivered, and beneath them, shadows yawned wide and dark.

* * *

“Uh-oh,” Doespring chuckled. Firepaw stopped next to her, giving her a bewildered look. She met his green gaze with her own, merriment twinkling in her eyes. “It looks like we’ll have to wait just a little bit longer to get back to camp.” She gestured to the hills in front of them with a tilt of her head.

Looking ahead, Firepaw immediately saw what Doespring meant. Along the hills before them, the writhing bodies of three cats were tearing across the moors, following behind a smaller, darker shape. A distant yowl floated across the grasslands, and two of the three cats suddenly broke off in different directions; one darted up the hill, racing up the incline and disappearing behind the curve of another knoll, while the second swerved around to flank the dark shape the party seemed to be pursuing on its other side. The third cat continued to sprint along on a straight track through the tall grasses and patches of heather. Seeking out the source of the yowl that had prompted the movement, Firepaw’s eyes were drawn up, up, up, until his gaze settled on the distant shape of Outlook Rock. It was difficult to be sure with the sun beginning to scorch the sky orange as sun-high faded into sundown, but the ginger tom thought he could see the shifting outline of a cat standing atop the distant stone.

Firepaw’s attention was drawn back to the hunting cats when Doespring caught her breath beside him. The cat flanking the rabbit – for that was what the small, dark shape the cats were pursuing was, Firepaw realized – swerved around a hillock, putting the cat nearly in front of the rabbit. The rabbit, startled, turned around, only to find another cat advancing upon it from the other direction. The creature skidded around, darting further down the hill towards where Firepaw and Doespring were standing. The hunters seemed to panic for a moment, skidding one their paws and swearing loud enough for the ginger apprentice to hear from where he stood, but suddenly, another yowl drifted down from Outlook Rock. One of the hunters sped up and got around the rabbit again with a mighty leap, sending the animal scurrying back up the slope once more. The other cat chased it up the hill, ears flat and fur streaming.

Suddenly, the third hunter reappeared ahead, racing out from behind the bend of another hill and diving at the rabbit before it could change course again and escape. The creature went down with a flail of its limbs before its body went still in the cat’s jaws. A heartbeat later, the other two hunters joined the third, and the trio began to make their way back up the slopes towards Outlook Rock far above.

Doespring let out a pleased purr. “We have a ceremony to look forward to when we get back to camp.”

Looking back towards the shrinking shapes of the warriors he had just seen catch prey for the Clan, Firepaw blinked in confusion. “This was Onepaw’s warrior assessment? But none of those cats looked like Onepaw…”

His mentor shook her head, muttering good-naturedly and half to herself, “Well, I promised you an explanation if we ran into the patrol, didn’t I?” Beckoning him along so they could begin walking again, she explained, “His assessment wasn’t to hunt. He’s been assessed on that already, and from the way Deadfoot brags, he’s quite competent at it. His warrior assessment was to _direct_ a hunting party.”

It clicked in Firepaw’s mind. “He was the cat standing on Outlook Rock.”

Doespring laughed lightheartedly, “You’re shaping up to be a natural WindClan cat already! You must have sharp eyes to have been able to see him from so far away.”

“I only noticed because I heard him yowling from up there,” Firepaw responded modestly.

His mentor smiled down at him, flicking his flank with her tail encouragingly. “That’s pretty impressive too,” she said. “Your senses are your greatest weapon here on the moors. If you continue to cultivate them, you’ll be a warrior in no time.”

Firepaw ducked his head humbly, though he couldn’t help but feel pleased at the older warrior’s praise. He looked ahead as he walked, eyes trailing from the moors, to the distant figures of the hunting party, to Outlook Rock. _That will be me someday_ , the ginger tom thought to himself, a giddy sort of anticipation zipping through his body. He quickened his pace without thought to keep up when Doespring broke into a run. _I’ll be a warrior, too._

* * *

Firepaw pushed out of the gorse tunnel and into WindClan’s camp behind Doespring, out of breath and weary-pawed.

“You did well today, Firepaw,” the brown she-cat said approvingly, drawing her apprentice’s attention. She offered him a smile. “We’ll start your training properly tomorrow. You can relax for the rest of today.”

“Thank you, Doespring,” he mewed back, smiling when his mentor nodded to him and padded off. Firepaw watched her go for a few moments before he turned away, sweeping his eyes over the clearing.

He caught sight of a familiar brown tabby pelt across the camp’s sandy hollow. “Onepaw!” he called, making his way towards the other apprentice.

Onepaw lifted his head and grinned as Firepaw approached. Firepaw tried to stifle his own grin at the sight of his friend; the older apprentice was sitting ramrod straight, the fur along his back bristling slightly in excitement, his tail was flicking back and forth across the sandy earth, and his ears and whiskers periodically twitching with anticipation. The other tom looked like he was about to vibrate out of his own fur. “Hey, Firepaw!” he greeted, voice bright and cheerful.

Firepaw could not hide his amusement. “Hey,” he returned the greeting. “I saw the hunt earlier. Good job!”

“Thanks,” Onepaw mewed. He ducked his head, but curled his tail around his paws, looking pleased. “…I’m glad I passed. I was so nervous, up there.”

Firepaw purred comfortingly. “You caught the rabbit,” he pointed out. “That means you get your warrior name, right?”

Onepaw opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a call from across the clearing. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Tallrock for a Clan meeting!” Tallstar’s voice rang out over the murmurs of conversation buzzing around camp. The brown tabby apprentice shot Firepaw an excited grin before swiftly bounding over to the meeting place. Firepaw followed to join the rapidly growing crowd.

“Today, we celebrate one of the most important ceremonies that a Clan can hold – and one of my personal favorites,” Tallstar announced, his tall, lean frame outlined by the sun where he was perched atop the Tallrock. He smiled down at the gathered cats, amber eyes shifting through their ranks to settle on the tabby coat of Onepaw. “The naming of a new warrior.”

Excited murmuring immediately broke out amongst the Clan, along with a few more exuberant whoops and cheers. Onepaw flattened his ears, embarrassed, in response to the latter, but stood and made his way towards the Tallrock with steady poise.

“Deadfoot, are you satisfied with your apprentice’s performance?” WindClan’s leader turned his head to look down at his deputy where the black tom sat at the base of the Tallrock.

“I am,” Deadfoot replied. His golden eyes glimmered with pride.

Tallstar tipped his head to the black tom in acknowledgement, a smile flitting across his muzzle. “Then it is high time Onepaw received his warrior name,” he decided.

The black-and-white tom stood tall atop the Tallrock, raising his long tail as he yowled, “I, Tallstar, leader of WindClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” Turning his gaze upon the brown tabby before him, he asked, “Onepaw, do you promise to uphold the Warrior Code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Firepaw shivered at the power of the words, but Onepaw did not waver as he replied, “I do.”

The sky burned with a reddish hue behind Tallstar, casting the Clan leader in a blaze of light. “Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Onepaw, from this moment on you will be known as Onewhisker. StarClan honors your kindness and loyalty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of WindClan.”

The clearing erupted into thunderous cheers.

“Onewhisker! Onewhisker!” Firepaw joined in the chant as the rest of the Clan began to let out exuberant calls of the brown tabby’s warrior name. All around, cats surged to their paws, many of them crowding around the newly-named Onewhisker with loud calls of congratulations. Firepaw took in the unbridled joy and pride on his friend’s face as his Clanmates gathered around him. The entire Clan seemed to be sharing in the excitement and happiness of the ceremony.

“Quite the event, isn’t it?”

Firepaw whipped around, startled by the deep mew that addressed him. Wide-eyed, he found his green gaze settling on the lean form of Tallstar. The black-and-white leader offered him a wry half-smile in response to the apprentice’s curious stare. “The naming of new warriors is celebrated in all of the Clans,” Tallstar explained. He cast an amber-eyed glance over the crowd, gaze lingering on the Clan’s youngest warrior. “WindClan hasn’t had any new warriors since Mudclaw and Tornear had their naming ceremony…” The older tom purred quietly with amusement. “Now the Clan will have plenty of paws to help defend it from foxes.”

“Foxes?” Firepaw echoed. Doespring hadn’t mentioned foxes when she gave him a tour of the territory… Were they a common problem?

Tallstar blinked and turned to look back at Firepaw abruptly at the apprentice’s mew. His eyes rounded slightly, appearing startled, and the faint twist of his muzzle seemed disoriented. His expression cleared only a heartbeat later, calm and composed once more. Firepaw thought he spotted some more somber emotion lurking in the Clan leader’s gaze, but the look was gone before he could try to define it.

“Foxes are more common in the forests, but they may occasionally wander onto our territory,” he explained, tone light and almost dismissive. “It is the duty of any warrior to be prepared to defend their Clan, no matter the threat. WindClan warriors are more likely to be called upon to defend the borders from other Clans than to fight foxes, but one must always be vigilant.”

Seeming to shake himself despite not actually moving beyond momentarily tilting his head towards Firepaw, Tallstar looked back over to where Onewhisker was, meowing, “I’m sure you’d like to congratulate your friend. I’ll take my leave.”

Firepaw turned to see that the crowd around Onewhisker had mostly dissipated, only Deadfoot and an unfamiliar brown she-cat lingering around him. When the ginger apprentice turned back to say something to Tallstar – though he wasn’t sure what – he found that the lanky black-and-white tom was already padding away, heading across camp without a backwards glance. Firepaw watched him go for a moment, still a bit baffled by the WindClan leader’s behavior, but he quickly shook his head, dispelling his questions. _It can wait_ , he decided. His muzzle curled in a smile again as he approached Onewhisker, nearly giggling with mirth when he saw the brown she-cat beside his friend lean over and give him a lick on the cheek, much to the new warrior’s chagrin.

“Congratulations!” Firepaw mewed warmly as the brown she-cat padded off. He glanced after her, green eyes bright with laughter. “What was that about?”

Onewhisker merely grumbled in response. Deadfoot laughed beside him, explaining for his former apprentice, “Wrenflight is just _very pleased_ that her youngest kit finally got his warrior name.”

Firepaw and Deadfoot both chuckled at Onewhisker’s expense while the brown tabby continued to grumble. His former mentor shook his head, flicking his tail against the new warrior’s flank with a smile. “I’m proud of you, Onewhisker,” he purred. “Congratulations.”

Onewhisker ducked his head and flicked his ears back as Deadfoot departed, embarrassed but flattered.

“What will be your first act as a warrior, mighty Onewhisker?” Firepaw asked, the smile on his face shattering the illusion of seriousness he had put into his tone.

The tabby tom snorted, shaking his head. “If it was up to me, it would be to eat a nice, fat rabbit,” he replied. “But warriors have responsibilities. New warriors are supposed to sit a silent vigil outside of camp on the night they’re given their warrior names, to watch over and protect the Clan.”

Both toms’ eyes were drawn towards the gorse tunnel when a shout of Onewhisker’s new name went out. Ryestalk and another older warrior that Firepaw didn’t recognize were beckoning Onewhisker over.

Onewhisker flashed Firepaw a small smile. “Duty calls,” he joked lightly. Standing, he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, making the fiery tom beside him snort at the ridiculous posture. Onewhisker cast him a playful glare before his expression softened into a friendlier smile. “I won’t be allowed to sleep until morning, but once I’m released I won’t move too far from my old spot,” he assured. “We can still sleep in the same area.”

Firepaw nodded with a purr and watched Onewhisker bound off to meet with the Ryestalk and the gray-and-white tom beside her. 

The green-eyed tom couldn’t help the feeling of awe and admiration that stirred up in his chest as he watched Onewhisker converse quietly with the other warriors for a moment before pushing his way through the gorse tunnel, heading out towards the edge of the thicket that surrounded camp. Life as a warrior seemed full of peril, if Doespring’s warnings about the other Clans and Tallstar’s bewildering remarks about foxes were anything to go by, but Firepaw thought maybe he understood the spirit of Clan life all the same; shouting out Onewhisker’s name with the rest of the crowd, feeling the excitement and pride of the whole Clan all around him as his friend received his warrior name, had sent an electric feeling coursing through his veins. The joy of all of WindClan had surged through him and taken root in his chest like a living creature, warm and content beneath his fur. If that was what Clan life meant – if being a cat of WindClan meant feeling that camaraderie, moving with purpose and always striving to reach new heights, knowing that each and every one of your Clanmates was at your back, supporting you and working towards those same goals…

_I can’t wait to be a warrior_ , Firepaw thought with a grin.


	10. Chapter 8

“Focus, Firepaw!”

Firepaw gritted his teeth, pushing himself to move faster. He lengthened his strides, racing across the moors with his eyes narrowed and fixed upon the smaller shape bounding in front of him. The land sloped down in front of him, lending speed not only to his steps, but to those of his quarry as well. Stretching his body and throwing his whole weight into the chase, he closed the gap between himself and his target. _Almost…_

With one mighty bound, he pounced upon his prey, dragging it down in a flurry of limbs. He bit the rabbit’s neck before it could thrash away from his grip, panting as he made the kill. Firepaw lifted his head, breathing heavily, as he heard pawsteps approaching him.

“Well done,” Doespring purred, tail flicking as she looked over his catch. “This will feed the queens easily.”

Firepaw smiled proudly, beginning to regain his breath. It wasn’t the first time he had caught a rabbit, but it was the first time he’d done it alone. The first rabbit he’d ever caught was the morning after Onewhisker’s warrior ceremony. He had woken up around dawn, as Doespring had requested, and left camp just as Onewhisker returned from his vigil to pad exhaustedly into the clearing to collapse dead asleep in the sand. Doespring had insisted they do partner hunting to start off; Firepaw had had a little difficulty coordinating with his mentor at first, since he was unused to hunting or stretching his muscles so much as he ran, but all the frustration was worth it for the impressed look that Onewhisker had given him when he brought his first kill back for the new warrior to eat after the brown tabby had woken up from his nap after the vigil.

Doespring beckoned him along with her tail, beginning to make her way back to camp. Firepaw bent his head to pick up his rabbit, quickly following after his mentor. Making his way along the trails cutting through the moors was easier now than it had been when Onewhisker had taken him out onto the territory for the first time; after a quarter moon of training, Firepaw had become a bit more accustomed to navigating the many paths through the grasses and heathers – even if he was usually accompanied by Doespring as she led him through hunting lessons and observation training. With the thick scent of prey well caught in his nose, Firepaw felt his muzzle curl in a smile around the rabbit in his jaws as they approached WindClan’s camp.

As he pushed through the gorse tunnel, ducking under the thorns and trotting into the sandy hollow in the center of the moors, Firepaw detected the excited hum of voices in the clearing beyond and perked his ears curiously. Chatter was not uncommon in the Clan’s camp during daylight hours, Firepaw had found, but the murmur of voices sounded louder and more rapid than the usual steady hum of conversation that drifted through the camp. Following his mentor into the clearing properly and peering around at the other WindClan cats, Firepaw could see that most cats milling about the clearing looked eager, and noticed that there was a sense of anticipation and enthusiasm in the air all around the camp.

Dropping the rabbit in the prey pile, Firepaw looked around bemusedly. “What’s going on, do you think?” he asked Doespring.

The brown she-cat hummed thoughtfully. “If I had to guess, I would say it’s probably Whitekit and Webkit’s apprentice ceremony,” she responded. “They’re both about six moons old now, so Tallstar will probably be making them apprentices soon.”

The ginger tom nodded in understanding, a smile spreading across his face. He was perhaps more excited at the prospect of new denmates than was truly warranted; for all the concerned talks he had had with Onewhisker about it, he actually hadn’t been required to train alongside Runningpaw yet. However, considering the gray tabby apprentice had continued to glare at him and sneer anytime he got within a fox-length of her, Firepaw didn’t think he could be blamed for worrying about being forced to work with her during training. Having more denmates would certainly make the prospect of training with any cat other than Doespring a little less intimidating.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Tallrock for a Clan meeting!”

Firepaw glanced at Doespring. His mentor smiled and gestured him along, padding off in another direction herself, going to join some of the other warriors amongst the gathering crowd. The ginger tom located his friend and moved to sit beside Onewhisker as the Clan began to assemble, all buzzing with eagerness at Tallstar’s call. Firepaw shared an excited glance with Onewhisker as the smaller forms of Whitekit and Webkit were brought before the Tallrock.

Tallstar looked down upon the kits with a smile. “Webkit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed,” the Clan leader began with the tom kit. “From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Webpaw. Your mentor will be Mudclaw. I hope that he will pass down all he knows to you.”

Firepaw winced slightly at the announcement. Mudclaw and Tornear had mostly left him alone in the past quarter moon, since he had battled them both at his own apprentice ceremony, but he suspected it was mostly because they both had duties to attend to as warriors, and Tornear as Runningpaw’s mentor. Anytime he had happened to cross paths with either of them, they would either sneer at him and purposefully move away, or offer snide comments about his bloodline. Runningpaw had been much the same, only more frequent, since they were technically denmates – even if dens meant little in WindClan’s camp, where hardly anyone slept in a nest and instead opted for sleeping in the sand beneath the stars, not to mention he hadn’t been required to work _with_ her for training yet. Having another Clanmate, another _denmate_ , who might end up like that wasn’t a particularly exciting prospect to the green-eyed tom.

Well. He could still maintain hope, at least, that Webpaw wouldn’t act that way.

“Mudclaw,” Tallstar went on, “You are ready to take on an apprentice. You have shown yourself to be a strong and vigilant warrior. You will be the mentor of Webpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

The Clan gave a few whoops and cheers as Mudclaw stepped forward to touch noses with the newly-named Webpaw, but the crowd quieted back down quickly enough once mentor and apprentice moved off to the side. The ceremony wasn’t over, as evidenced by the remaining kit standing before the Tallrock. Firepaw thought he could see Whitekit’s pale body tremble faintly from where he sat.

“Whitekit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Whitepaw,” Tallstar intoned, long tail flicking behind him. His amber eyes shifted over the gathered crowd for a moment before he announced, “Your mentor will be Onewhisker. I hope that he will pass down all that he knows to you.”

A ripple of shock went through the Clan, murmurings immediately springing up amongst the crowd of cats. Firepaw could almost smell the disbelief hanging in the air. Every cat seemed slack-jawed, glancing between the chosen mentor and an increasingly nervous-looking Whitepaw. Firepaw looked to Onewhisker, opening his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but any words he may have had died on his tongue when he saw his friend’s stricken expression. Onewhisker seemed almost frozen, motionless as he stared wide-eyed ahead of him, almost seeming not to see Whitepaw, Tallstar, or the rest of the Clan at all.

Slowly, the tabby tom rose to his paws, taking shaky steps towards the Tallrock to stand beneath it, looking up at Tallstar with wide amber eyes.

Tallstar’s expression did not change as he went on, “Onewhisker, you are ready to take on an apprentice. You have received excellent training from Deadfoot, and you have shown yourself to be a loyal and caring warrior. You will be the mentor of Whitepaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to her.”

Onewhisker stepped forward unsteadily to touch noses with his new apprentice. Firepaw honestly could not tell which of them seemed more nervous; Whitepaw blinked rapidly at the young warrior as they completed the ceremonial gesture, her paws fidgeting across the sandy ground, while Onewhisker pulled back from the white she-cat with jerky movements once they had touched noses, avoiding her gaze and instead glancing between Tallstar sitting atop the Tallrock and his own paws.

_What’s so bad about this?_ the ginger tom wondered. He wasn’t sure why the Clan – and even Onewhisker himself – seemed to react so strangely to Tallstar’s decision. No one had seemed to react negatively towards Tallstar’s choice for Webpaw’s mentor, and Firepaw knew that Onewhisker was certainly not disliked within the Clan.

“Whitepaw! Webpaw! Whitepaw! Webpaw!” Firepaw took up the cheer of the new apprentices’ names that the Clan had almost haltingly begun to chant, faltering more than they had when Onewhisker had received his warrior name. Webpaw and Mudclaw seemed to hold their heads high with identical pride, both toms’ chests puffed out. Whitepaw was smiling, but it seemed shaky, and despite the eagerness in her eyes, her paws were trembling slightly against the ground. Onewhisker was visibly struggling to hold himself together, shoulders drooped and shaking despite his upright posture. Still, the Clan continued to cheer until Tallstar flicked his tail and leapt down from the Tallrock, dismissing the meeting.

The crowd dispersed, most warriors breaking away to move about their duties as usual, bustling about the clearing or leaving camp on patrol, while others moved over to the new apprentices and their mentors to speak with them. Firepaw noted Tornear approaching Mudclaw to mew what he could only assume to be congratulations, both toms exchanging words with one another and an eager Webpaw. Both apprentices were approached by a warrior who Firepaw recognized as Sorrelfeather, the she-cat conversing with the apprentices with a wide, warm smile on her face. Other cats passed between the group, presumably meowing congratulations or offering advice, but most did not approach Onewhisker, and the tom himself almost seemed not to hear anyone who did say anything to him.

Firepaw rose to his paws and padded over hesitantly. “Onewhisker?” he called his friend, frowning when the brown tabby only stared forward, amber eyes looking blank. “Onewhisker, are you okay?”

Onewhisker twitched at Firepaw’s call, amber eyes sliding over to look at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m going to mess this up,” he declared quietly, a note of finality and certainty in his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Most warriors have seasons to prepare for having an apprentice,” he stressed. “I haven’t even been a warrior for a _moon_.”

Firepaw blinked, casting a glance towards Whitepaw and Webpaw with wider eyes. The Clan’s reaction made a bit more sense to him now – Mudclaw was clearly an older warrior, though not nearly as old as Doespring or some of the others. Onewhisker, on the other hand, was younger, newer, and less experienced. What, then, had made Tallstar give him an apprentice so early on?

“U-Um…”

Both toms looked over at the sound of a tentative voice. Whitepaw seemed to shrink when they both turned their gazes on her, blinking at them both with wide, pale blue eyes. “I-I was just wondering w-what we were going to, um, do?” she squeaked, tail-tip twitching under their stares. “I-If we’re doing anything… today…”

“No,” Onewhisker cut in abruptly, causing Whitepaw to close her mouth with a click. The tabby tom fidgeted, not looking directly at his new apprentice as he explained in a faltering voice, “It’s… late. We – we probably wouldn’t get much done today, anyway…”

It wasn’t really that late; perhaps there wasn’t enough time to get in a full tour of the territory – the sun was just beginning to touch the topmost peaks of Highstones, sinking in the sky but not gone yet – but the day wasn’t over. Yet, Whitepaw didn’t protest, only nodding meekly and looking at the ground as Onewhisker made his excuses and practically _fled_ , slipping off to some other part of camp.

Sighing slightly, Firepaw watched his friend go before turning back to Whitepaw and offering a tentative smile. “I could help you find a place to sleep, and make a nest in one of the burrows?” he offered.

Whitepaw smiled thankfully and nodded. “T-That would be nice,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Firepaw walked the new apprentice through finding a comfortable spot to rest in the sandy hollow, pointing out the general vicinity of where he and Runningpaw usually slept, and showed Whitepaw the scattered collection of burrows around the edges of camp where the Clan could hide away from rain. He kept half an eye out for Onewhisker throughout the rest of the evening, but saw no sign of the young warrior, not even when he eventually settled down to sleep for the night, Whitepaw curled up not far from him beside her brother. Firepaw laid staring up at the night sky for a long while before he closed his eyes.

Firepaw slept fitfully through the night, the shadows surrounding the camp clawing their way into his dreams with eyes glinting white like cold stars.


	11. Chapter 9

It was dark.

Firepaw could barely see the horizon line; it was hard to tell where the earth ended and the sky began. There were no clouds, and where numerous bright stars usually shone overhead, there was nothing but an endless expanse of black. Even the moon seemed to be absent, though there was some sort of faint, milky light that faintly illuminated the surrounding area, revealing the familiar sandy earth of WindClan’s camp. Yet, though the setting was familiar, the oppressive darkness of Firepaw’s surroundings made everything seem not quite right: no stars overhead, the scents of the moors outside muted, even the usual faint rustle of the heather bushes surrounding the camp silenced, not a breeze stirring the dead air surrounding him.

Everything was so, so dark.

A cold pit formed in Firepaw’s stomach. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe – air frozen in his lungs, breath held in anticipation, though of what, he did not know. His fur stood on end, and he soon found that the wild slamming of his heart all that he could hear.

Suddenly, something shifted. Firepaw could not explain how he detected the change in the overpowering gloom, but he found his eyes drawn from the sky towards the barely-there outline of the heather barrier. For a moment, there was nothing but the creaky ache of Firepaw’s chest as he continued to hold his breath and the dull throb of his pulse in his ears – then, everything exploded into chaos.

Firepaw gasped, air dragging painfully into his lungs, stinging his throat. Yowls split the air, piercing Firepaw’s ears with their volume and ferocity. Shadowed shapes flew across the clearing, claws and teeth glinting and shining brighter than any of the innumerable, muted stars in the sky. Even with the minimal light washing over the clearing, the cats tearing through the space in vicious spats – slashing and biting at one another, flashes of their eyes revealing wild savagery – remained dark and nearly formless, specters and apparitions that sent a chill down the ginger tom’s spine. He remained rooted to the spot, unable to move a whisker, as a pungent, coppery scent filled the air, so strong that it took several moments for the apprentice to recognize it: blood.

_What’s going on?_

Firepaw felt as though he couldn’t catch his breath, even though he could feel himself pulling in ragged gasps, his throat stinging with the harsh rasp of air through his windpipe. Everything was moving too quickly, disorienting and overwhelming. Amongst the cacophony of snarls and shrieks permeating the air, one voice seemed to be steadily rising above the others, a repetitive call that swelled and pierced through the oppressive darkness, syllables distorted and unclear, but becoming clearer with every repetition, until the ginger apprentice could finally hear clearly.

“ _Firepaw!_ ”

Green eyes flew open, and Firepaw sat bolt upright, panting and digging his claws into the sandy earth beneath him. It took him several seconds to get his bearings, his heartbeat slowing and the incessant pounding leaving his ears, letting the sounds of chatter and rustling heather to filter into his awareness. A moment later, he realized that the annoyed face of Runningpaw was hovering over him, the tabby she-cat’s tail flicking impatiently from side to side, and her fur bristling slightly along her shoulders.

“Are you a kit?” Webpaw asked snidely, his muzzle scrunched up derisively when Firepaw turned his head to look at the other tom. “Always mewling and crying in your sleep?”

“Are you okay?” Whitepaw asked much more kindly from beside her brother, shuffling her paws slightly.

“I’m fine,” Firepaw sighed in response to Whitepaw, ignoring Webpaw’s remark, though he felt his ears burn slightly at having apparently been crying out in his sleep. Pushing himself into an upright position, he began to try to groom his disheveled fur into a neater order, glancing towards Runningpaw. “Did you need something?”

Runningpaw pulled back a step, wrinkling her nose distastefully at him, green eyes flat. “Doespring called you about a thousand times for training,” she mewed back dryly. “Best get on your way before she claws your ears off.”

Firepaw looked up, eyes wide, and whipped his head towards the camp’s entrance. His mentor was indeed sitting beside it, tail-tip twitching intermittently. The ginger tom winced and hurriedly finished his grooming, hopping to his paws and turning to bustle towards his mentor, flattening his ears and wincing internally as her green eyes switched sharply to him as he approached.

Doespring offered him a frown. “You’re late,” she noted, rising smoothly to her paws, her eyes trailing over his no doubt still-ruffled form. “What’s going on with you? This is the third time in the past several days.”

“Sorry,” Firepaw mumbled, ducking his head slightly, though he did not attempt to explain himself – _he_ had no idea what the dreams meant, how could he explain them to someone else?

The brown she-cat heaved a sigh and shook her head, turning away to trot ahead, leading the way towards the heather tunnel and out of camp to the territory beyond. “Just try to keep up,” his mentor called over her shoulder to him. “We’re doing a rabbit run today, and we may join Tornear and Runningpaw for battle training later on.”

Firepaw stifled the urge to groan, instead nodding obediently as he trailed after his mentor, even though he could still feel exhaustion pull at his bones and faint, unsettled anxiety buzz beneath his fur. “Yes, Doespring…”

* * *

Firepaw was nearly panting by the time he trotted back into camp, muscles sore and giving protesting pangs every time he moved. He nearly sighed with relief when he finally reached the interior of WindClan’s camp again, but perked his ears and tried to straighten himself up to listen when Doespring set down the rabbit they’d caught and turned back to him.

“I am going to speak with Tallstar – he will be choosing which of the apprentices to go to the Gathering,” she mewed, twitching one ear. “Rest for now. We’ll continue training later on.”

Firepaw winced quietly as his mentor turned away to trot towards the Tallrock. She hadn’t said it outright, but the ginger tom could hear the implications in Doespring’s voice; he’d been _off_ , as Whitepaw and Doespring had politely taken to calling it, for the past half-moon – waking up late, getting lost on trails through the moors that he had already learned, fumbling or entirely missing catches while hunting, and getting bested embarrassingly quickly in spars with Runningpaw, and even occasionally with Webpaw and Whitepaw, too. Considering his recent behavior, it was unlikely that Tallstar and his mentor would deem his performance good enough to warrant taking him along with the Gathering party tonight. _At least she isn’t making me train past sunset…_

Giving a muffled groan regardless, Firepaw picked up a mouse from the fresh-kill pile and dragged himself over to the worn sand where he usually slept, flopping down and sprawling out to give his sore muscles a rest. He began to eat the rodent, perking his ears slightly as he heard pawsteps approaching him, and internally sighing, hoping that it wouldn’t be yet another cat giving him something to do – all he wanted at this point was to take a nap.

“Hey, Firepaw.”

The ginger tom jerked his head up at the voice, blinking. “Onewhisker,” he greeted back, surprised. He hadn’t gotten to speak with the older tom too much after the newest WindClan apprentices’ ceremony – since then, Onewhisker was usually either training with Whitepaw, or doing his utmost to avoid his apprentice while they were both in camp. Considering Whitepaw and Firepaw tended to be in the same places, both as fellow apprentices and as friends, meant that Onewhisker was generally _not_ wherever Firepaw happened to be at any given time.

“Hey,” Onewhisker mewed back with a small smile, carefully sitting down beside the apprentice and curling his striped tail around his paws. “How’re you?” Before Firepaw could answer, the tabby let out a small snort. “I’m assuming not too well – you look like a monster ran you over. No offense.”

Firepaw sputtered a laugh after a heartbeat ( _monster_ meant _car_ , he reminded himself), swatting lightly (weakly) at the older tom’s flank. “ _Right_ , sure, none taken,” he chuckled back, shaking his head. “I’m exhausted. I just got back from training with Doespring; we were chasing rabbits all morning, then I had to spar with Runningpaw.”

Onewhisker winced sympathetically, offering Firepaw a slight, encouraging smile. “Well, it’s not as bad as when you first got here, right?” he prompted, nudging Firepaw’s side with one paw. “Your training’s making your stronger and faster by the day!”

The ginger tom really did let out a lamenting moan at that, dropping his head down between his paws dramatically. “Now you just sound like Doespring,” he complained, peering up from his paws to flash his friend a small, crooked grin when Onewhisker threw his head back with a laugh at the remark.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” he teased back, whiskers twitching with amusement. “She might be a patient cat, but I think she’d still box your ears if she heard you badmouthing her.”

“I’m not badmouthing her!” Firepaw yelped in indignant protest, swatting at his friend’s flank again. “Doespring is great! She’s a very good warrior! And she teaches me lots of important stuff!”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Firepaw huffed and wrinkled his nose, gathering his strength to give Onewhisker a more solid shove on the side, sending the older tom swaying off to the side. “You know what I _meant_ ,” he asserted with a sniff, flicking his tail and tilting his chin up pointedly. “Besides, if I was going to badmouth anyone, it would be you.”

Onewhisker barked out a laugh at that, shaking his head in mock hurt. “You wound me, Firepaw,” he remarked, amusement lurking under the faux sadness layered in his voice. However, a moment later, his expression sobered a bit, teasing replaced by concern. “Seriously, though, are you alright? You really don’t look well… and Whitepaw’s mentioned you’ve been sleeping fitfully, almost missing training a few times…”

Firepaw’s ears warmed slightly at the information – Whitepaw was clearly more worried about him than she’d let on to him, if she’d been talking with Onewhisker about it. “I’m fine,” he meowed with a slight, uncomfortable shrug. “Just… like she said, I’m not sleeping very well.”

Onewhisker did not appear convinced.

The green-eyed tom heaved a sigh, flattening his ears a bit. “I just have weird dreams, sometimes,” he elaborated. “They wake me up, or make it hard to get any good rest. I’m fine, otherwise, just… tired.”

Onewhisker gave a sigh of his own after a moment, but nodded his head to the younger in acquiescence. “If you say so,” he meowed, though his tone was distinctly doubtful. “But if it keeps up for too long… go see Barkface about it, okay? I’m sure he could do… something. Give you herbs to help you sleep, or something.”

Firepaw quirked a small smile, nodding his head to Onewhisker. “I will,” he promised. “Thanks for worrying. Sorry you had to hear about it from Whitepaw.”

The brown tabby swiftly shook his head. “It’s alright,” he assured. “Doespring is probably running you ragged, you shouldn’t have to go out of your way to seek me out to tell me stuff if something’s going on.” He seemed to cringe to himself, adding regretfully, “I know I’ve been sort of… unavailable, lately.”

Firepaw shook his head at his friend, opening his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the interruption of a loud yowl from the center of camp.

Tallstar stood atop the Tallrock, long tail waving high over his back. “Cats of WindClan, it is time for the Gathering!” the black-and-white tom announced, voice ringing out loud and clear. “The cats attending this moon will be Doespring, Ryestalk, Bristlepelt, Tornear, Runningpaw, and Firepaw.”

The apprentice’s eyes widened with shock at the pronouncement of his name. _Me?_ Onewhisker wore a dumbfounded expression as well when Firepaw turned towards him. Even without that, the ginger tom knew that this couldn’t be normal – going to a Gathering was an _honor_ , as he’d learned since coming to WindClan, and he had consistently been late and distracted from training for the past several days. There was no way that he had earned this… was there?

Firepaw scrambled to his paws when Tallstar leapt down from the Tallrock, signaling the Gathering party to follow him as he made his way towards the gorse tunnel. He nearly stumbled and fell back onto his haunches when Runningpaw roughly shoved his shoulder as she passed by, casting a glare at him as she passed. “I don’t know _what_ Tallstar is thinking,” she hissed lowly, green eyes blazing chips of fury, “But don’t get used to it, _kittypet_.”

The ginger tom frowned after her as she stalked off, more confused than stung. The fact that he was invited at _all_ seemed baffling – there was no way that Doespring had vouched for bringing him along, she had been clearly displeased with his recent performances. His attendance made no sense. And, as frustrating as it was to concede anything to Runningpaw, she was probably right, to some degree; he probably _shouldn’t_ get used to it. If these dreams persisted, and continued to disrupt his training, he most likely _wouldn’t_ get to go again, no matter what fluke had brought him along this time. Runningpaw’s reaction still seemed a bit over-the-top, though.

Onewhisker seemed to agree, because the tabby tom flinched beside him at the tone of Runningpaw’s voice, amber eyes slightly rounded when he turned back towards Firepaw. “Congratulations on going to your first Gathering,” he meowed, casting a glance towards the cats slipping one by one through the gorse tunnel. “And, uh, good luck.”

“Thanks,” Firepaw muttered in return. “See you later, Onewhisker.”

He hurried off, absently noting his friend waving his striped tail in farewell as he went, bringing up the rear of the patrol as they departed from camp and doing his best to ignore another glower from Runningpaw, walking just in front of him. Instead, the ginger tom sank back into his own thoughts, mind swimming in endless questions as he followed the group out of camp and onto the moors, heading towards Fourtrees in the distance as the sun died below the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter, we are now 100% caught up with the FFN version of this!
> 
> There may be longer gaps between updates, now, but _hopefully_ it won't be too long... I imagine I'll have more time once finals are over and all that jazz~ 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!


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